To the Count of Twenty
by Society's Cavity
Summary: A bet between Cartman and Kyle puts Stan's relationship with Wendy in the spotlight. But with everyone watching, it may be that much harder to admit that maybe Wendy isn't the one Stan wants to be with. (Perversion, immaturity, and a sprinkling of slash.)
1. Chapter 1

**To the Count of Twenty**

Written at the request of my little sis, Fogged Tears, who is the most diehard South Park fan I have ever known.

(Be warned : in attempt to stay in-character, this is probably one of the most depraved fan fictions you'll ever read. If you don't want to know what fifteen year old boys really do in their spare time... you should probably turn back.)

**=======**

**chapter one**

The weather was frigid and the ground was completely frosted with ice, as per usual in the mountain town of South Park, but Stan Marsh's face was hot enough to heat a moderately sized classroom as he tried explaining his most recent date with Wendy Testaburger to his eager friends. "And she uh... we were sitting on her couch, y'know... and she leaned over to kiss me, right?"

"And?" came Kenny's muffled voice impatiently from beneath his parka.

"And... she sorta... slipped me the tongue...."

"And then what?" barked Cartman, trying hard not to look too curious. Stan fidgeted uncomfortably for about the thousandth time since the start of the conversation.

"And then...." He looked seconds away from pissing his pants. "I ralfed all over her."

His three friends fell backwards onto the snow, tears leaking out of their eyes (and milk out their noses, in Kyle's case at least) as their laughter echoed off the nearby mountains.

--

Kyle was still sniggering even as he and Stan filed into the high school's cafeteria, much to the annoyance of his best friend. "Ah, c'mon, dude," he sputtered out between laughs. "It's not... _so_ bad, you know." Stan frowned.

"Are you kidding me?" he asked as he grabbed a lunch tray and fell into the cafeteria line. "Kenny will have died at least twenty times before I ever get laid."

"You _would_ probably puke out a lung if Wendy ever took off her coat in your presence," Kyle started with a grin before Stan chucked a carton of milk at his head; it exploded promptly, showering them both. Laughing harder than ever, Kyle added sympathetically, "At least you've got a better shot than Cartman – just looking at that fat ass should cheer you up." Stan rolled his eyes.

"Why has no one shot you yet?"

"Because I'm adorable."

Stan finally cracked a grin as they paid for their lunches and headed outside to join Kenny and Cartman, who were conversing loudly at their usual picnic table. They shut up as Stan and Kyle reached earshot. "Hey, Jew!" Cartman called to Kyle, who was so used to this by now he didn't bother retaliating. "Fixed your performance problem yet, Stan?"

"Ha ha, very funny," Stan snapped sarcastically as he plopped down across from Kenny, who was stealing food from Cartman's tray when he wasn't looking. "At least I've _got_ a girlfriend, lardass." Cartman pulled a face, slapping away Kenny's hand as he tried to sneak a pudding.

"Oh yeah? At least I can... er...." he cast around frantically for an insult. "Get it up!"

Stan looked utterly nonplused. "What the hell...? Who said I couldn't?"

"Kenny," Cartman responded quickly, pointing, to which Kenny frowned and flipped him off, grabbing the pudding and stuffing it into his parka. "Why else would you get so nervous around that ho Wendy? Besides, if you _can_, why don't you whip it out and prove it?"

"Dude!" cried Kyle, dropping the sandwich he was about to take a bite out of; he'd suddenly lost his appetite. "Sick!" Kenny was choking he was laughing so hard.

"You wanna see Stan's chode? You're such a fag, dude!" he mumbled between laughs.

"Ay!" yelled Cartman. "Don't call me a fag, you poor piece of shit!"

Kenny pursed his lips for a moment as if in deep thought. "... fag." He only had a moment to grin cheekily before Cartman completely lost his temper and swung his lunch tray as hard as he could at Kenny's head. The resulting collision sent blood flying everywhere and the three boys distinctly heard a bone crack. After a minute of waiting hesitantly for Kenny to pick himself up off the ground, Stan gasped out loud, "Oh my god! You killed Kenny!"

"You _bastard_!" roared Kyle, sending food flying as he jumped over the table to beat the shit out of Cartman, who was still holding his tray in the air as though frozen in the act, but he quickly regained his composure in time to kick Kyle in the shins. Within seconds, the two were engaged in a full-out brawl on the snow covered ground; classmates had started to gather around them to watch the fight.

Stan stared, wide eyed, from Kenny's body (which had already begun to attract rats) to the battle of fists and swear words that was his friends, then let out a sigh.

_Well_, he thought miserably. _That's one_.

--

Stan lay in his bed, fully clothed, eyes turned to the ceiling in quiet contemplation. Why _was_ he so constantly nervous around Wendy? They'd been an on-and-off couple for the past six years.... _Damn_, thought Stan as he sat bolt upright. _Has it been that long? Christ_.... Laying back down, he let out a long exhale, completely void of ideas to fix his "performance problem" as Cartman so affectionately put it.

"Stan?" Mrs. Marsh's voice asked through the crack in his bedroom door. Stan glanced up lazily. "Kyle's here."

He frowned; he hadn't invited his best friend over, but shrugged and said regardless, "Come in, I'm not beating off or anything."

"Stan!"

Kyle smiled at Mrs. Marsh's red face then shut the door behind him as he entered to ensure them some privacy. "What are you doing here?" Stan asked curiously, swinging his legs over the side of his bed and chuckling at Kyle's pout.

"What am I doing here? Oh, that's real nice for someone who just got out of detention and surrendered their remaining hours of daylight to be with their best friend." Stan laughed.

"You sound like a chick."

"You wish," Kyle muttered under his breath with a smile before swinging his backpack over his shoulder and onto the ground. "Anyway, what I'm '_doing here_' is coming to help. I realized after kicking the crap out of Cartman that I can't have a best friend who's such an unbelievable pussy." It was Stan's turn to look offended.

"Excuse me?!"

Kyle shot him an appraising look. "Well, it's true, isn't it? And I don't think I can live in a world where Cartman is actually right about something." Stan stuck out his lip.

"Fair point. So what've you got in the bag?"

"A plan." He pulled out an armload of books and dumped them onto the floor. They all had titles like "_Sexual 101_," "_Dating for Dummies_," or "_Sabrina's Passion_." Stan went bright red.

"Dude... this is all shit for loser chicks who can't get dates... why do I –"

"Look at this," said Kyle quickly, opening a book and thrusting a full-page photograph of two women making out under Stan's nose. He promptly threw up all over the floor (and the book, which Kyle was sure would piss off the librarian he'd borrowed it from). Smiling as his best friend wiped away traces of vomit from his mouth, Kyle declared triumphantly, "_That's _why. Your problem is that you're a complete sexual spaz."

Stan opened his mouth then closed it wordlessly, glaring. After a minute of composing himself, he retorted angrily, "I am not!" But he was lying and they both knew it... and, for that matter, so did anyone who'd ever watched him hurl whenever a pretty girl spoke to him. Obviously not fooling the smirking jew, he sighed and continued, "But what's this brilliant plan of yours...?"

Kyle grinned. "I'm glad you asked." He piled all the books into a neat stack and hauled them over to Stan's bookcase, giving them a reassuring pat. "The challenge is to get your sorry ass laid before the count of twenty." Stan raised an eyebrow.

"The count of twenty?"

"After your comment about Kenny dying twenty times before... y'know... well, me and Cartman bet on it during our detention together."

"Oh?" Stan asked, trying but failing not to smile at his friends' childishness. Kyle plowed on.

"All you've got to do is become completely impervious to the idea of spontaneous, immoral sex. In other words, become a guy." Stan muttered something offensive about Jews in a low voice. "With the aide of these books and a generous helping of porn, I think turning you into a man is a possible goal."

"Will you shut the fuck up, Kyle?!" Kyle just cracked a grin, zipping up his backpack and sliding it back on over his shoulder.

"Remember that I'm on your side," he said in what Stan assumed was supposed to be a bracing voice as he walked over to the bedroom door and pulled it open. "So not a word to Cartman... fifty bucks are riding on it. You've got to the count of twenty." He winked and then, without so much as a good-bye, disappeared out the door.

Torn between swearing and laughing, Stan settled for chucking one of the heavier books at the door where Kyle had been seconds before.

"What's going on up there, Stanley?" shrieked his mother's voice from downstairs. Stan donned a grin identical to Kyle's before sliding off his bed and grabbing a book entitled "_What Goes in Where?!_"


	2. Chapter 2

**To the Count of Twenty**

**=======**

**chapter two**

The following day was sunny and promising (if slightly dented by the below-freezing weather). Stan woke up from a good night's sleep with a jaw popping yawn, greeted by a bedroom full of warm sunshine. It was the perfect day for his date with Wendy that afternoon, and while his nerves were likely to make a fool of him again, he was confident that if anyone could help him, it was Kyle. Besides, when getting lucky with Wendy became a way to beat that fatass Cartman out of fifty bucks... the idea looked even more inviting.

"What do you look so happy about?" Mr. Marsh asked with an eyebrow raised over breakfast. "You get laid in your dream or something?"

"Randy!" cried Stan's mother, missing her mouth and sending her spoonful of cold cereal and milk all over the table.

Stan simply replied innocently: "Yup."

Then he headed off to the bus stop, Mr. Marsh cracking up behind his wife's back.

"Oh, look who it is, you guys," Cartman announced in a singsong voice as Stan appeared around the corner. Kyle looked judging by his face as though he had been – up until the very moment Stan arrived – arguing with Cartman. Not surprising, Stan thought to himself. Kenny was sitting on the edge of the curb deeply absorbed in some sort of magazine in his lap. None of the other boys seemed to find this odd, despite the fact that they had just smashed his brains out the previous day. But such was life in South Park.

"How's it, fag?" Stan greeted cheerfully, loving the expression on Cartman's face as he fought to suppress the urge to shout something profane at his friend. He managed to throw it off, though.

"Lovely day, isn't it? I think I'll utilize it by getting the hell away from _you_, Stanley...." Then he turned off to talk to Kenny, which proved to be a futile effort, because Kenny didn't so much as look up from his magazine as Cartman sat down beside him. Stan cocked his brows.

"What's up with Kenny?" he asked softly enough that Kenny couldn't hear. Kyle laughed, raising a gloved hand to his mouth to stifle the noise.

"I snuck some porno mags from my dad's dresser but made the mistake of showing them to Kenny and Cartman. Kenny's been flipping through that one for about ten minutes now...." Stan snickered, shifting his view sideways to catch a glimpse of the hilariously perverted, orange-hooded (of course) boy. He now realized why Kenny had positioned the magazine directly over his lap.

It was as the school bus finally pulled up that Cartman let out a loud swear. "WHAT THE FUCK IS THAT, KENNY?!"

"Hmm..." Kenny started, muffled as usual. "I think it's your mom, dude. Damn, she's hot." Cartman looked like he was about to explode – or shit himself, whichever came first.

"Oh, God DAMMIT!"

Stan and Kyle ran quickly onto the bus to avoid being seen laughing by Cartman, who might have initiated another incident like yesterday's lunchtime one, but luckily for Kenny was wanting of a metal lunch tray.

--

"... I want your reports on the judicial branch in by next Tuesday... that gives you the entire weekend. I have a list of resources on the board behind me...."

Cartman was drifting in and out of his Civics I class, trying to keep his eyes open long enough to jot down the websites on the blackboard, but it was impossible. As soon as he would muster up enough energy to hold his pencil upright, his eyelids would fall back down as if rigged with lead weights. Casting his bleary eyes around, he determined that he was totally screwed on this assignment; he knew hardly anyone in the class to call up for the sites that evening... except Wendy Testaburger.

But she wasn't likely to let him borrow her notes, no matter how much he groveled. Promising himself that he was only resting his eyes, his subconscious drifted to Wendy... then Stan... and his bet with Kyle. Fifty dollars out of that dumb jew's pocket... the thought put a smile on Cartman's face. And they were as good as his....

"Cartman!" came a nasal voice from behind him.

"Huh?" said Cartman groggily, snapping his head up as if electrocuted. The entire class had cleared out, except for Wendy, who was standing behind his desk and looking annoyed. "Oh," he commented upon seeing her. "Sup, ho?" She glared.

"Are you just going to _lie_ there all lunch? The bell rang two _minutes_ ago." So, she'd stayed back just to lecture him? Cartman let out a long exhale as he pushed himself up off his desk, suddenly more alert now that class had ended.

"Seriously, Wendy, you don't have to wait up for me. Just come by my house anytime, I'm up for a romp." Wendy was getting noticeably red, and her hands were clutched very tightly around her stack of books.

"I – I don't have time for this!" she cried out, exasperated. "Stan's waiting for me, I can't _believe_ I bothered wasting my time just so you didn't stay asleep here for the next hour." And with that, she turned on her heel and stormed – still fuming – out of the classroom. Cartman just stood bemused in her wake.

She was one insane bitch, that was for sure. But, Cartman thought to himself, she'd _have_ to be insane to like a chode like Stan. He cast his thoughts back to his bet with Kyle. While it was true that Stan was the most desperately pathetic "boy" in all South Park, Wendy _did_ most definitely have a thing for him... and Kenny seemed to be holding up pretty well today.

Slinging his backpack over his shoulder, he left for lunch with the thought that maybe he would have to take this bet into his own hands.

--

"Where're Kyle and Stan?" mumbled Kenny as he sat down across from Cartman at their nearly empty table. Cartman was looking highly annoyed, poking at his mashed potatoes without interest.

"I have no idea, I've been waiting for those goddamn assholes for ages...." Kenny frowned.

"So... I guess Kyle didn't leave behind any of those mags, huh?"

Cartman stared up at his friend with absolute disbelief for almost an entire minute before muttering, "Shut the hell up, Kenny."

--

"We are _so_ gonna get busted, dude."

"Just keep your barfing to a minimum and we won't."

"How am I even supposed to puke? You're not letting me eat lunch."

"Yeah... there's a reason."

The two ninth grade boys were huddled up awkwardly inside one of the boys' bathroom stalls during their lunch hour. They were each taking up about half of the toilet seat, Stan's feet propped up on the handicap handrail and Kyle's squashed against the opposite wall. Kyle's backpack was hanging on the door's coat hanger so that there would be no sign they were skiving off lunch to read porn on school property.

"Okay," Kyle said, tongue between his teeth, flipping through the various magazine titles. "Maybe some innocent Playboy...." He pulled a magazine out of the stack and handed it to Stan, who looked apprehensive.

"I don't know, dude... this seems kinda sick...."

Kyle snorted. "Haven't you ever looked up porn before?" Stan went pink.

"Well, okay, yeah, but... I mean... well, not with another _guy_ squashed up against me." Kyle started to laugh under his breath.

"So what? If I ever take you to a strip club you'll get excited and hump me?"

Stan rolled up the magazine and smacked his best friend over the head.

"Alright..." he thought out loud, more to himself than anyone else, opening up the magazine and flipping through the pages of silicon-breasted women. He was tempted to stop to read the jokes, just to annoy Kyle, but decided against it because his hormones were kicking in and he really wasn't that interested in them. "So... remind me... again... why we're doing this?"

"Because let's be honest; if you can't even sit through a frencher with Wendy without spewing chunks, chances are you're not gonna be able to –" but he stopped mid-sentence, a strange, closed expression on his face. Stan raised an eyebrow.

"Uh... Kyle?"

"Yeah?" he squeaked.

"What the hell is wrong with you?"

Kyle shifted uncomfortably. "Maybe we should reconsider that idea of yours... you know, the one where we don't do this sitting next to each other...." Stan went green.

"Oh, Jesus, Kyle, sick!" he screamed, scrambling awkwardly off the toilet seat and unlocking the door. "Get out right now!" Kyle snickered, then let himself out to find another stall, magazine in hand. Stan was grateful now that Kyle hadn't let him eat anything, because as he locked his stall up and sat back down, Kyle making quiet but obscene noises a few doors down, his stomach turned over unpleasantly.

But it had nothing to do with the Playboy he'd dropped on the floor.

--

"You're such a dumbass," Kenny sniggered softly as Cartman leaned out of their two-person huddle. Cartman, uncharacteristically, didn't look at all offended. His grin was too broad.

"A dumbass who's gonna be fifty dollars richer when this whole ordeal is over."

"Forty," Kenny corrected him. "If what you just said about my 20% is true."

"Sure, sure," Cartman added in a dismissive tone, waving his hand. He'd neglected to mention the bit of the bet that involved his friend's death; he was expecting fifty dollars in full. "Just watch... and learn...."

Cartman slid off their bench and strolled too-casually over to the tree under which Wendy and a group of her girlfriends were eating their lunch. When she noticed the chubby boy in their vicinity, she looked up at him as though he were slightly mad. "Umm...?" she asked weakly, still staring up at him. A few of the other girls started giggling.

"Hey ho," he started conversationally, shooting a thumbs-up at Kenny behind his back. She glared at him.

"What the hell do you want, Cartman?" she spat out bitterly, looking annoyed now that she'd overcome her shock.

"It's about the debate meeting next week."

Wendy looked absolutely stunned, and the girls that had been giggling stopped abruptly, mouths agape. After a moment or two she shook herself out of her stupor and stood up, dropping the sandwich she'd been munching on unceremoniously to the ground. "What _about_ the debate meeting?" she asked quietly when she'd put a few feet between them and her group of friends; she was the head of the debate team, but she didn't like to parade the fact. Cartman dropped his serious expression immediately and let out a laugh.

"Oh, nothing, I just thought it might get your attention." Wendy's jaw dropped, and her hands clenched, a telltale sign that she was seconds away from punching Cartman. "I actually need those references for the judicial report." Wendy sneered.

"Of course. It might have interrupted your catnap if you'd written them down _yourself_, huh?" Cartman rolled his eyes.

"Look, ho –" Wendy's face went completely red "– I was up late last night, and I _really_ need those sites, or I'm gonna fail... this report is a huge part of our grade. Do you really want that on your conscience?" he asked with fawn eyes.

Wendy looked torn, but eventually retorted, "It's not _my_ fault if you're a dumbass who can't stay awake in class."

"Well, I _would_ ask _Stan_," he mused aloud, and he could tell he hit a nerve, because Wendy's bright face suddenly went ghostly pale. "He's got Mrs. Fredericks, too, but...." He stood on tiptoe as if to look for Stan somewhere behind Wendy. "He doesn't seem to be here."

Wendy finally snapped and aimed a hit at Cartman, but he dodged it, giving her a brazen grin. When she drew back, horrified at what she'd done, the giggles behind her started up again. Cartman turned to walk away from her, calling over his shoulder as he headed back towards his and Kenny's table, "Maybe I _will_ show up at that debate meeting, ho!" Going back to red as quickly as she'd gone from it, Wendy waited until Cartman was out of earshot, then stormed over to her friends and dug her heel viciously into her discarded sandwich, steam practically pouring out her ears.

"_Damn_, Wendy..." Bebe whispered, staring wide-eyed at her fuming best friend. "Do you need to see the nurse?" But with a look from Wendy, she shut immediately up.

Back at their lunch table, Kenny was laughing so hard he might've had a heart attack. "Holy shit," he was panting. "What the hell was that?"

But Cartman, to his surprise, was still smiling. "Phase one of the 'snag-fifty-bucks-from-jew-boy' operation."

Kenny raised an eyebrow. "Dude, you totally destroyed any chance of Wendy digging you... _ever_."

"Never fear, my little friend," Cartman reassured him, popping a Cheesy Poof into his mouth. "I've got that insane chick exactly where I want her. Just wait." Kenny rolled his eyes, still laughing quietly.

"Whatever, Eric... whatever...."


	3. Chapter 3

**To the Count of Twenty**  
  
=======  
  
**chapter three**  
  
Even by the time he arrived at Wendy's house that afternoon with a bouquet of flowers in hand, Stan was still feeling slightly hung-over from what had happened in the boys' bathroom earlier that day. He tried to push it out of his mind as the door swung open and revealed his grinning, black-haired girlfriend. "Stan " she cried excitedly, grabbing the bouquet and beaming. "Wow... thanks... "  
  
"You ready?" he asked with a sheepish grin, thankful for Kyle's advice about the flowers; Wendy was swallowing the attention up. She nodded, cheeks pink.  
  
"Uh huh, just gotta grab some shoes and put these –" she cast another fond look down at the flowers in her hands "– in water." As she hurried off to find a vase, Stan couldn't help laughing to himself. He had, of course, heard about guys giving their girlfriends flowers before, but it had always seemed like the sappiest, cheesiest thing in all of humanity... now, however, he was considering bringing her flowers every day... if this was the response he got, anyway. "Alright," she panted after she'd run back to the door, sliding on a pair of strappy heels. "Let's ride."  
  
The theater was chilly and the movie was based around the same old chick-flick plot girls always fell for, but Stan couldn't care less, because Wendy was snuggled up against him, obviously still charmed. Besides, at least the movie featured a lot of hot chicks in low-cut blouses. And the outing had done a successful job of keeping Kyle off Stan's mind... until Wendy dug a little uncomfortably into his side and whispered, "Stan?"  
  
"Uh huh?" he responded absently, as though he'd been paying deep attention to the flick.  
  
"Where were you at lunch today?"  
  
--  
  
"Dodge, dodge, dodge god dammit " Cartman roared at the television screen, as though his character could hear him. He was yanking his game controller excessively to the right, as if this would somehow make his video game character's responses quicker. "Dodge "  
  
Too late. "Haha " cackled Kyle, dropping his controller so he could punch the air in victory. "You lose, fat boy " Cartman glared.  
  
"You got lucky."  
  
"Oh, don't be such a pussy, Cartman." He was still laughing and making triumphant hand gestures even as Kenny scrambled over Cartman to grab the controller. Cartman jerked it out of his reach, obviously unwilling to part with it. Kenny pouted.  
"Come on, Cartman, I'm playing winner."  
  
"I didn't lose."  
  
"You did so " Kyle argued, pointing needlessly to the screen, where Kyle's character was standing over Cartman's bloody – not to mention dead – one.  
  
"I want a rematch."  
  
"You _lost_, Cartman."  
  
"GOD DAMMIT I WANT A FUCKING REMATCH " Cartman leaped over the couch in an attempt to strangle the redhead he – to the day – had no idea why he hung out with. Laughing, Kyle quickly engaged him in a wrestling match on the ground.  
  
Kenny grinned and grabbed Cartman's abandoned game controller.  
  
--  
  
"W – what?" Stan stuttered, suddenly queasy.  
  
Wendy was a little flushed, but pushed, "You weren't waiting for me at lunch, but you weren't eating with Cartman, either, so...." She snaked an arm around Stan's.  
  
How was he supposed to respond to that? Sorry, Wendy, I was in the bathroom jerking off with Kyle? "I uh... I was just...." Why did Wendy's stare have to make him so nervous? _Come on_, _Stan_, _think of something_... _anything_....  
  
"Just what?"  
  
"I was just hanging out with Kyle...." There was no way she'd believe that, even if it wasn't a lie, his words were shaking too much. Her eyebrows were raised, and he suddenly felt an uncomfortable pressure in his stomach. When he jerked suddenly away, her eyes widened and filled with something like – hurt? Guilt definitely wasn't helping the situation....  
  
"What is it?"  
  
"I've – I've gotta run to the bathroom," he replied honestly, then made a mad dash out of the theater. Wendy watched, stunned, as he disappeared through the swinging double doors.  
  
_Fuck_, he thought to himself as he emptied out the contents of his stomach into the public toilet he was leaning over. That didn't go well. He wiped the vomit off his lips then crouched close to the floor, head pounding. How could he have forgotten that he'd been supposed to meet Wendy for lunch? Maybe Kyle thought he was a pussy, but Stan thought he was too much of a guy for his own good.... Why didn't he tell her he had to stay after to make up a test or something?  
  
_That's what I should have told her_, he thought miserably. Instead, he'd run off with Kyle without even thinking... the two had no sense of responsibility. Despite the fact that he'd screwed _himself_, he couldn't help but smile at the fact that Kyle was definitely going to be out fifty dollars within the next couple of weeks.  
  
He headed out of the bathroom and back to the theater, but Wendy had disappeared, and her purse with her. She'd obviously left. Stan put a hand to his head. Those books on his shelf that Kyle had checked out for him had better have a solution to the mess of shit he was now in with his temperamental girlfriend.  
  
Maybe he'd just have to buy her some roses again.... Laughing bitterly, he turned and headed home.  
  
--  
  
Kenny and Kyle were in the Cartmans' bathroom brushing their teeth (well, mostly spitting toothpaste at each other) when the phone rang.  
  
"Mom " yelled Cartman, but when she didn't respond, he grumbled then picked up the phone himself, grunting, "Hello?" into the phone.  
  
"H-hello... Cartman...."  
  
It was Wendy.  
  
"Oh, hey...." (He fought to keep "ho" from slipping out.) "Man, you sound like shit...." She sniffed into the phone, and Cartman was suddenly struck with the horrible thought that maybe she'd been crying.  
  
"I uh...." Her voice was shaky, but she was at least grateful that Cartman couldn't see the shame burning in her face at calling up the one person that had always gone out of his way to make her life a living hell. "I just wanted to uh... ask you something...."  
  
"I thought you were going to the movies with Stan tonight?" Cartman interrupted bluntly, more curious than spiteful, because he _had_ thought Wendy and Stan were out, which would've given him more time to come up with some good lines when she called in distress later. He was just going to have to improvise now.  
  
"Well, I was," she replied, giving another loud sniff. "I mean, we did. But we uh... we just... uhm... Stan got sick, so we decided to call it a night." Well, she thought, that was _almost_ the truth.  
  
"Okay," Cartman said slowly, not wanting to push it in case she started to cry; he didn't think he could put up with that for long. "So... what was it you wanted to ask?"  
  
"Oh." She cast a long look down her hallway and into her kitchen, where Stan's flowers were arranged carelessly in a ceramic vase. "Well, it's not a big deal or anything –" Cartman tried not to snort "– but, y'know, Stan's been acting kinda weird lately... and I was wondering if you knew anything...."  
  
Cartman donned a twisted expression that he wished Wendy could see. "Maybe, maybe not... but you know what might jog my memory?" Wendy sighed into the phone.  
  
"If you want the references, I've got them right here."  
  
"Really? Get down," Cartman said with a grin. "Let's have 'em."  
  
"Okay," Wendy forced out five tedious minutes later, after she'd given all of the sites to Cartman – he hadn't been the best audience, either. She'd had to repeat herself so many times that her voice was hoarse. "Do you know what's up with Stan?"  
  
Cartman pondered for a moment how to answer this, wishing he'd had more time to think about what to say. "Well, I really _don't_ know where he was at lunch today, if that's what you're wondering...." She felt a little sting of disappointment; that _was_ what she'd been wondering. "But I don't think it's anything to worry about."  
  
"... really?"  
  
"Yeah," Cartman replied, wanting to strangle himself for being so reasonable and friendly, especially to Stan Marsh's girlfriend. "Stan's an asshole sometimes, but he's definitely too hot for you to do anything that'd piss you off." Wendy grinned, amazed at how much _Cartman_ had just cheered her up.  
  
"Wow... thanks, Cartman." He laughed.  
  
"Don't worry about Stan. I know I rag on you, Wendy... but you're not such a bad chick.."  
  
"O – oh...?" He could tell she was flustered, and was about to open his mouth to say something else when he heard a strangled scream from the bathroom.  
  
Snapping around so quickly his neck cricked, he whispered into the phone, "Uh, something's going on... I'll see you tomorrow...."  
  
"Y... yeah," she replied, nodding invisibly. "Bye."  
  
"Bye, ho."  
  
She actually laughed before putting down the phone, but Cartman didn't notice because Kyle was calling loudly for him.  
  
"Cartman " he was yelling even as the chubby boy skidded into the first story bathroom. "It's Kenny – we were just messing around, and he started choking," he breathed out frantically, waving his hand at Kenny, who was doubled up on the floor coughing for England. But Cartman didn't help; on the contrary, he leaned against the wall and waited until his friend stopped choking, went a pale green, and fell – lifeless – to the floor. Cartman took a step forward to hold two fingers in front of a horrified Kyle's face.  
  
"That's two, jew." 


	4. Chapter 4

**To the Count of Twenty**

**=======**

**chapter four**

"Why do we do this?"

"Do what?"

"This."

"Oh, wow, thanks for clearing that up for me," Cartman coughed, glaring at Kyle through the corners of his eyes, because he couldn't be bothered to actually move his head. Kyle propped himself up on his elbows and frowned at Cartman, who, as always, was comfortable on his bed while his friends were forced to sleep on the floor in too-small sleeping bags Eric hadn't used in years. Tonight, however, it was just the two of them, and of the four, they were the two that got along worst.

"Fight. Constantly. Incessantly."

"Because we hate each other?" Cartman offered helpfully, to which Kyle laughed out loud.

"No, it's... I mean, we hang out all the time, don't we? But all we ever do is go at each other's throats... most boys settle their differences with a fist fight, but we wage full out war on each other."

Cartman actually lifted himself up to stare at the redhead, his expression testament to the fact that he clearly thought Kyle was being an idiot about this. "Okay, Kyle, seriously... what the hell are you talking about?"

"I mean, this whole 'to twenty' thing... don't you think that's a little excessive? Vicious? _Sick_?"

"Hey, I can't help it if your best friend is a little pussy."

"He is not!" Cartman rolled his eyes to this.

"He throws up every time a girl kisses him. That, to me, would suggest that he's a little lacking in the testosterone department." Kyle glared.

"You're one to talk, fatass! You don't even have a girlfriend to throw up _on_!"

Cartman didn't respond to this, which Kyle initially took as a victory, until he noticed the horrible smile on his face. When Cartman started sniggering under his breath, Kyle couldn't hold in his curiosity anymore.

"What's so funny?"

Cartman tried to stifle the noise, responding quickly, "What do you mean?"

Kyle pursed his lips, annoyed. "I mean, what the hell are you laughing at?" Cartman kept on laughing, louder now.

"Nothing."

Kyle was struck with a sudden, creeping suspicion. Faint frown lines between his eyebrows, he asked slowly, "Who called earlier this evening?" Cartman grinned evilly.

"Wendy."

He started cracking up again at the look on Kyle's face, eyes wide and mouth hanging open. "W – what did she want?"

"She was asking about Stan, if you really must know."

"And what the fuck did you tell her, Cartman?!"

"Christ, calm down, Jew," Cartman muttered, waving his hands in defense. Kyle's face was visibly reddening, even in the dark of the bedroom. "I didn't do anything to sabotage Stan's chance of winning our little bet. As a matter of fact, I told her not to worry, and that Stan was a good guy." Kyle still looked suspicious.

"I don't believe you."

"Fine then," Cartman replied angrily. "Don't. But I could've told her a hundred things Stan was doing at lunch today instead of hanging out with her, and I didn't."

Kyle's mind froze up. Oh, _fuck_. Stan hadn't told him he was supposed to meet with Wendy today... if he had, he wouldn't have dragged him into the bathroom to.... He put his head in his hands and groaned, fingers tangled up in his messy hair. Cartman raised an eyebrow.

"What?"

"_I_ was with Stan at lunch today... I didn't know he was supposed to be eating with Wendy."

It was amazing how alert Cartman suddenly was, as five minutes ago he had been on the brink of sleep. "You could've told me and Kenny! We waited on you forever! What were you two doing?"

"Nothing that's any of your business, fatass." Cartman glared.

"I swear to god, Kyle, if you're trying to cheat to win this bet –"

"I'm not cheating, dammit!" roared Kyle, forgetting that Cartman's mom was asleep and probably wouldn't appreciate the noise. "Besides, I'm sure that whatever you're discussing with Wendy isn't within the bounds of fair play!" Cartman and Kyle spent a minute in silence just glaring at each other, Cartman fighting the impulse to shout "Screw you guys!" then head home, mainly because he was already in his own bed and had nowhere to go. He eventually settled for yelling at Kyle to get out of his goddamn house, and, grateful for an excuse to leave, Kyle picked up his things and stormed out the door.

--

Stan thumbed through thick sections of pages, frowning at the help – or lack thereof – the books were offering him. All he wanted was the solution to a misfired gesture of kindness, which he thought seemed a reasonable request, but none of the books seemed to agree. The ones written for women advised the girl to leave her boyfriend at this point (_very encouraging_, Stan noted), the ones written for men were basically just aimless, soft-core erotica, and when he had turned in desperation to the romance novels Kyle had picked up, the main character went through several different sexual relationships before deciding that they were moving to France to pursue their dream of becoming a fashion designer.

Which Stan assumed he had to be a chick to understand.

He was in the process of picking up a heavy book on Kama Sutra when he noticed a piece of torn looseleaf paper fluttering to the ground. Curious, he picked it up and flipped it over to find a note written in what he recognized immediately as Kenny and Kyle's handwriting.

"_Check out page 94_... _I'd love to do that to Bebe_," Kenny's handwriting spelled out, to which Stan gave an embarrassed grin. Kyle's response was, however, not nearly so amusing.

"_Count me in_. _That girl has got the greatest rack known to man_."

He immediately dropped the paper as though it was scorching to the touch. His face went pink and his stomach clenched up; it was the uncomfortable sensation of walking in on a private conversation between two people whose love lives you were quite happy knowing nothing about.

_I thought Kyle hated Bebe_, Stan thought to himself, hands still frozen in the act of dropping the note. God, what a... _pig_! He shuddered involuntarily, feeling guilty about thinking something so judgmental about his friend, especially as he was going out of his way to help him... but help him to what? Fuck a girl? Win himself fifty dollars? Stan felt as filthy as though he'd written the note himself.

Maybe he _was_ too different from other guys. Maybe he _was_ as pathetic as Cartman always suggested. But what was really bothering him wasn't the idea that _he_ was a pansy, but that his _friend_ was such a dick. Maybe he would expect this from Kenny, or even Cartman... but Kyle had never been shown anything but loyalty and maturity (at least compared to the rest of his friends) to him... this disgusting side of his personality tore at Stan until he couldn't take it anymore and buried his face in a pillow to muffle the sound of an aggravated scream.

He spent a few quiet minutes in miserable darkness before he was abruptly shaken from his own thoughts by a sharp noise at his window. Leaping out of bed as though electrocuted, he hurried over to the window and drew it open, his breath faltering as he saw who'd been hurling rocks at it.

"Stan," Kyle called up in a loud whisper he hoped would carry without waking anyone. "Could you get the door for me?" Stan just nodded stupidly, then slipped on a dressing gown as he hurried down the stairs. He unlocked the front door and pulled it open as quietly as he could, staring at the grinning redhead with disbelief.

"What..." he started thickly, as though he'd just been sleeping, which he hadn't. "What are you doing here?" The dull noise of nightlife drowned out Kyle's snort.

"Me and Kenny were at Cartman's, but he lost it and kicked me out...." Well, that explained the backpack, anyway. Kyle was apparently uneasy at the skeptic look his friend was giving him, because it was with a nervous expression that he continued, "You don't... you know... mind if I crash here until morning, do you?"

"Huh? Oh." Stan shook his head as if to shake himself awake. "No, yeah, come in...." Kyle shot him a grateful smile as he stepped into the house and out of the cold night.

"Nice bathrobe, by the way."

"Shut up."

The two headed quietly upstairs, but Stan was still uneasy, and having Kyle right next to him, asking if he had any spare sheets, didn't make it any easier to digest what he had just read. There were a million questions he wanted to ask and a million questions he knew he shouldn't... why the fuck did Kyle have to show up here now anyway? "Take the bed," Stan said shortly as the two boys reached his room.

"Huh?" Kyle asked with a blank expression on his face, shutting the door behind him.

"You can have the bed. I'm going to be reading for a while anyway."

"You sure...?"

"Just take it," Stan snapped, a little louder than he'd intended. Kyle looked a bit taken aback, but shrugged it off and climbed into Stan's twin size bed, dropping his backpack and jeans on the ground. He crawled under the sheets and glanced sleepily at his best friend, smiling as Stan picked up one of the books he'd checked out for him.

"Thanks, man." Stan turned away from his book, eyebrows raised. "For letting me crash here." Stan shook his head, looking back down.

"No big...."

What a fucking lie.

When he heard Kyle's snores and knew for sure that he was asleep, Stan could chance reaching under the book to pull out the note again; maybe the words would've rearranged themselves by now. But in what was unmistakably Kyle's handwriting, it still read: "_Count me in_. _That girl has got the greatest rack known to man_." The same went for the ten consecutive times he read it over and over.

Why did he care? Boys will be boys, and unfortunately that meant a constant preoccupation with sex, but... still... Stan bit his lip, the note shaking in his trembling fingers. Kyle had never expressed interest in Bebe, so maybe it was the knowledge that Kyle was getting off on an entirely superficial attraction to a girl he couldn't even stand. Then, feeling as though he'd just taken a blow to the gut, Stan wondered if he'd been thinking about her in the bathroom.

_Who would you rather he be thinking about_? a horrible voice in the back of his head teased.

And for twenty minutes he sat propped up against his bed, completely unable to think of a proper answer.

When Kyle woke up during the middle of the night to get a drink, Stan was gone. Figuring he'd just gone to take a piss or something, Kyle slid off the bed and headed downstairs; he knew the Marsh house by heart, even in the dark. But the kitchen light was on, and Stan was at the table, playing lazily with a half-eaten bowl of cereal. Kyle sniggered quietly and almost gave his friend a heart attack.

"Jesus, Kyle!" he cried in a strangled voice, spilling milk all over the table. Kyle grinned.

"What are you doing up?"

"'Couldn't sleep," mumbled Stan, which wasn't a lie. Kyle sat down next to him, forgetting about the glass of water he'd come down here for.

"Something wrong?"

"No." A moment's pause. "What do you think of Bebe?"

"... why?"

"Just tell me."

Kyle raised an eyebrow. "I think she's a bitch." But he phrased it as a question, as though wondering if this was the right answer, which, by the look on Stan's face, it wasn't. He was frowning, staring very intensely into his cereal.

"I thought so." Then, feeling he should give an explanation for the question, "Wendy thought maybe you could come with us on a double-date... Bebe just broke up with Clyde." It was a lie he'd have to pay for later.

"Well," Kyle mused, resting his chin on his hand. "You'd probably get brownie points with Wendy if I did... I guess I could be your wingman." This time he had _clearly_ said the wrong thing.

"What the fuck is the matter with you, man?" Stan shot at him, jumping up into a standing position and spraying more milk on the table in the process. "You don't lead people on like that! What if some chick really liked you, huh?" Kyle's eyes were wide with shock.

"I never said –"

"Grow up!" And then he stormed off, leaving Kyle speechless at the table and covered in flecks of cereal.

"Jesus, dude...."

--

By twelve o'clock, Cartman was beginning to regret throwing Kyle out. It was lonely, and quite frankly, he wasn't comfortable with Kenny's corpse only a story below him. But Kyle just had a way of pushing his buttons....

He _wasn't_ cheating, Cartman thought firmly, frowning. Wendy called _him_. _She_ was the one who'd come to the conclusion that Stan was a crap boyfriend, and Cartman had even gone so far as to assure her otherwise. Alright, maybe his intentions weren't exactly as pure as they seemed, and maybe he was acting on different motives than he'd suggested to Kyle, but he _knew_ Kyle was helping Stan and wasn't playing fair, either. In fact, Cartman thought, feeling suddenly stupid, he was probably over at Stan's house right now. Telling him that he'd talked to Wendy. And Stan was sure to report back to her with some of Kyle's bullshit accusations....

He'd just override whatever Stan said about him, Cartman decided. If he wasn't brilliant, he _was_ cunning... and Wendy had fallen for him once before, hadn't she? He'd just find out what Stan and Kyle were really up to and let the information "leak." Wendy would come to him for answers, and.... He smiled nastily. Kyle should know better than to mess with him.

There was the slight drawback that he wasn't particularly fond of Wendy... but if she was screaming profanities about Stan, maybe she'd be more tolerable. Besides, he'd liked _her_ once, too... he couldn't remember why at the moment, but maybe some time around her would help him remember. There had to be _some_ reason Stan vomited every time he got close to her. He hoped it was a good one.

He curled up under his blankets and fell asleep thinking of Stan's expression when Wendy had kissed him during that debate all those years ago....


	5. Chapter 5

**To the Count of Twenty**

* * *

**chapter five**

"Stan!" Kyle yelled through the door, hoping he wasn't disturbing Stan's parents. He tried jiggling the doorknob, but Stan had locked it. Kyle hadn't even been aware that he'd done anything....

"What?" came Stan's muffled voice; he sounded pissed.

"Can you at least let me in?" There was a long period of silence during which Kyle contemplated leaving the second house of the night, but then the door opened just wide enough for Kyle to step in. "Thanks," he said in a less-than-grateful tone.

"What do you want?" Stan asked bitterly, crossing over to his bed and flopping down onto it. Kyle was still looking completely floored at the situation.

"I... downstairs...." He shook his head, starting over. "What the hell was... _that_?"

"What was what?"

Jesus, he could be just as annoying as Cartman! "You just... _exploded_ at me...! I didn't do anything!" Stan sat up and glared at him as though he was being purposely stupid.

"You think it'd be 'nothing' to treat Bebe like that? You think it'd be nothing to take her out, lead her on, make her think she has a chance without ever intending to see it through?"

Kyle eyes were wide and innocent. "Dude, she's just a girl...."

"But that's the point!" Stan yelled, not caring who heard him. "What about me and Wendy, huh? What about her? Is she 'just a girl,' too? You think it's nothing, this 'getting laid by twenty thing,' but maybe I actually care about her!"

"Look, Stan," Kyle started, bright red. "I'm not doing this for Wendy... I'm doing this for you...." Stan's face was impossible to read. "So _what_ if I don't care about Bebe or Wendy, or any girl for that matter? I'm only helping you because it'll make _you_ happy...."

Stan frowned. "Are you?"

"Yes!" Kyle cried, exasperated. Stan looked at the ground, a little red in the face now himself.

"What about your bet with Cartman?"

"That's just for kicks, Stan... look, fifty bucks isn't that big of a deal.... If you don't want to do this, you don't have to. I just, you know... thought you did. You're my friend, and –"

"But what if I wasn't?"

Kyle's eyebrows rose. "What do you mean?"

Stan was wearing that annoying how-stupid-are-you? expression again. "What if _I_ was just some girl?"

Kyle laughed out loud; he knew it was a stupid move, and that it was bound to piss Stan off even more, but he couldn't help it. "What the hell are you talking about?"

But when posed in the form of a question, Stan couldn't answer. He no longer _had_ any idea what he was talking about. _What if I was just some girl?_ What was _that_ supposed to mean? He was pulling arguments out of his ass now, he knew it... because he actually liked the idea of Kyle putting him above girls – Stan couldn't say he'd always done the same. He couldn't, however, help but feel he liked it for the wrong reasons... and he didn't want to think about it.

"Nothing," Stan said softly, shaking his head. "Sorry. I had a fight with Wendy tonight... I'm just... sort of on edge." Kyle was still looking anxious, as though he was waiting for Stan to erupt again. The expression hit Stan with another wave of guilt. "I'm sorry. I actually appreciate it, you know, what you're doing for me." Kyle grinned weakly.

"Well... you're welcome, I guess...."

"Yeah." This silence wasn't heavy, but awkward. Stan fidgeted with his sheets before speaking again. "I know you've got nothing against Wendy... and Bebe _is_ kind of a bitch, just... don't assume they'll guess your intentions on their own." Kyle nodded nervously. "You're the only one of us who hasn't always been a complete bastard."

Kyle laughed softly, still slightly afraid, but comforted by the smile on his friend's face. "I uh... as touching as that is... I'm really tired, between you and Cartman, you know. Can I still have the bed?"

"Hell no."

"Alright then."

* * *

Bebe would be coming over later in the afternoon, and Wendy was stocking up on junk food; potato chips and gossip were the ritual necessities for one of the girls' slumber parties.

As she drifted down the aisle, she hesitated for a split second as her hand passed over a package of double-stuffed cookies. She loved the things. But when she reached to grab a package, she thought absently, _Cartman likes them too_.

She almost dropped them, but she recovered quickly. She hadn't thought about Cartman since Friday night when she'd called to ask about Stan... why has she thinking about him again?

She shrugged it off, heading down the aisle in search of the salt and vinegar chips Bebe had requested.

* * *

Cartman and Kenny were sitting in the McCormick's front yard, Kenny leaned up against his front door playing a gameboy, and Cartman on the front steps, bent over his homework assignment. When Kenny gave a loud cheer at something in the game, Cartman jumped and dropped his book into the dirty snow. Growling, he whipped around to Kenny, who was grinning innocently behind his orange hood.

"God dammit, I'm trying to concentrate, Kenny!"

"Me too!" Kenny protested, but not angrily. "And that insane concentration just allowed me to beat the fifth level dungeon boss!" Cartman sighed, shaking his head sadly.

"I hate you, Kenny...."

"Fuck you," Kenny replied cheerily, turning off his gameboy and setting it down on the stoop before leaning over to pick up Cartman's civics book. He dusted off the dirt and snow before handing it to the scowling boy, who was looking even more annoyed at this act of kindness. "Why do _you_ of all people care about this assignment anyway?"

"It's a big chunk of our grade," Cartman responded in a voice that wasn't his, but at the disbelieving look on Kenny's face, he grinned and added, "And I've got to impress Wendy, don't I?"

Kenny rolled his eyes and nudged Cartman to get him to move over so Kenny could sit down next to him. "You're still on that whole Wendy thing?" Cartman tutted.

"Of course I am. It's brilliant."

"Eric, she _hates_ you. She loathes your very _existence_." Cartman glared at him, very tempted to knock him sideways off the step.

"She was into me once before, wasn't she?"

"Fair enough," Kenny said. "But that was years ago, and after a five-second frencher she was completely over it."

Cartman let out an annoyed exhale. "Okay, Kenny, seriously...."

"I mean it! Even if you can somehow convince her that Stan's a lying, cheating, animal-raping cretin, what makes you think she's going to pick you instead? While Stan is a relatively nice guy, you're a fat, racist, manipulative –"

"God dammit Kenny shut up!" Cartman roared, while Kenny struggled to stop laughing next to him. It was, generally, a good idea not to get Cartman too mad.

"I'm on your side, man, it's just... you know...."

"Yeah, I know," he growled, looking sullen. "Make yourself useful and help me out with this paper, would you? Flip through these pages I printed out... see if you find anything...." Obediently, Kenny took the thick stack of computer paper Cartman shoved at him and started thumbing through the pages, though he really had no idea what he was even looking for. He was more interested in shooting furtive glances at his friend when he wasn't looking.

It was strange to see Cartman concentrating on anything that would positively affect someone, even if that positive effect was a teacher's disbelief at Eric Cartman actually turning in a homework assignment. Laughing silently to himself, Kenny turned back to the stack of papers and skimmed through it, looking for snippets about law and order, because that was the extent of his knowledge on Cartman's report. Cartman must really want to humiliate Stan (and Kyle, really) if he was willing to _work_ for it.

Or maybe that was only half of it. Kenny hoped Cartman wasn't looking over at him, because his eyes weren't moving and it was obvious that he wasn't really looking for information on the judicial branch. Kenny had explained it off as one of Cartman's usual mood swings at the time, but hadn't Cartman been bummed for about a week after their debate over the flag? A week after Wendy kissed him but explained away her interest in him?

"You sure these are the right sites?" Kenny asked after a few minutes of scanning the pages. Cartman frowned, looking up at him.

"Yeah, they're the ones Wendy gave me, why?"

"It's all a bunch of crap... there is zero information in here...." He thrust the papers at Cartman, who rolled his eyes and took them.

"I don't doubt it. Fredericks is a bitch. I wouldn't be surprised if half these sites are about the legislative branch or something...."

"... do you like her?"

Cartman laughed. "Well, as I just called her a _bitch_, I'd have to vote '_no_.'"

"Not Fredericks," Kenny replied, shaking his head. "I mean Wendy. Do you like Wendy?"

Cartman's eyes went wide and he actually _did_ push Kenny off the step this time. "No fucking way! Don't – don't be an idiot! She's... well she's a ho, dude. The only reason I'm even going for her is because she's _Stan's_ ho, and that still doesn't make me happy about it! Alright, maybe she's cute, but she's annoying as hell and only exists to make me miserable. Besides, I –" But about twenty seconds into his rant he realized that Kenny wasn't responding, and after a quick glance over at him realized that he had just pushed him onto an upturned rail spike. For one second he stupidly considered checking for a pulse, but then realized the profuse bleeding was probably sign enough.

"... whoops."


	6. Chapter 6

**To the Count of Twenty**

This chapter introduces the return of Lexi, the sweet little whore who works at Raisins. She only appears once (I believe) and as the episode isn't out on DVD, I'm not sure how many people have seen it. Therefore, there will NOT be any spoilers from the episode Raisins, so you don't have to avert your eyes every ten seconds. All you need to know is that Lexi makes it her job to attract men, wears way too much makeup, and has something of a history with Butters.

* * *

**chapter six**

The lamps were all off, the only light the blue flickering from the television everyone had been too lazy to turn off. The room smelled like popcorn, coke, and Bebe's salt and vinegar chips no one else would touch.

"I don't know... he's kinda spazzy, don't you think?" Bebe thought out loud, crunching loudly on a potato chip while a few other girls pulled faces.

"Only around Wendy," one of the teens sighed enviously. "And he is _so_ hot in that little football uniform...."

A red-haired girl giggled. "He's not even on the starting line. He just sits on the bench for two hours."

Wendy took her pillow from under her elbows and threw it at the girl's head, Bebe laughing. "And he's _hot_ sitting on the bench, isn't he?"

"Oh... oh yes, totally...."

"Dream on, girls... Stan Marsh is a queer."

All the girls in Wendy Testaburger's basement turned to stare at the pretty brunette who was flipping her hair back over her shoulders and grinning at their surprised expressions. "Lexi..." started Wendy slowly, as though talking to the mentally ill. "I'm _dating_ Stan...." Lexi flipped her hair again and tutted.

"Well of _course_, sweetie, he doesn't want anyone to _know_!" Wendy was still frowning at her when Bebe broke in.

"Have you _seen_ him around her? He vomits every time she gets too close!" While Wendy buried her face in her hands in embarrassment, Lexi just laughed.

"Oh, come on," she giggled. "Isn't it obvious that he's into his little redhead friend... Broflovski, I think?"

Wendy let out a muffled snort into her palms. "You're so fucking insane, Lexi...."

"You know who _I_ heard is gay?" interrupted a blonde girl, pigtails bobbing up and down while she shook her head as though on the verge of saying something scandalous. Nearly everyone except Lexi – who was still giggling at Wendy – turned their eyes on her with eager anticipation. "That Butters Stotch kid."

_That_ shut Lexi up.

"W– what?" she asked, stuttering uncharacteristically. Only Wendy picked up on it, grinning nastily between the slits in her fingers. "That cute blondie? No way... who told you?" she asked, a little too breezy to be believable. Wendy nudged Bebe hard in the side and whispered something in her ear.

"Bathroom gossip, I dunno... but it was kinda obvious, wasn't it? He's always been a pushover around the other guys... I kinda always figured he liked it up the ass," she added with a squeal, shaking her head again. Lexi frowned. Wendy stood up, pulling Bebe up with her.

"Bebe and I are gonna go get some more ice, alright? Anyone want anything?" A few girls gave them requests for soda before they left for the stairs. Right before disappearing up the stairway, Wendy shot a wink at Lexi, who looked absolutely floored. She muttered something about forgetting to tell the two girls something before leaping up and following them upstairs.

"What," Lexi panted, slamming the basement door shut behind her while Wendy and Bebe grinned mercilessly at her, ice trays in hand. "Was that?!"

"Was what?" asked Wendy innocently while Bebe snickered behind her, popping ice into a bucket.

"That wink!" Lexi snapped with a low growl, which was strange to hear, because her voice was usually an octave above normal speaking tone. Wendy put a hand on her hip and her finger to her lips in an exaggerated look of concentration. Bebe was beside herself. "Well?"

"Do you like Butters?" Wendy finally asked, smiling politely. Lexi looked disgusted.

"No!"

"Do you really think Stan is gay?"

Lexi frowned defiantly. "Yes, I do. I told you, he's into that Broflovski guy. It's _so_ obvious."

"And you don't think it's painfully obvious that Stotch tiptoes that homo/heterosexual line?" Bebe asked, struggling to balance the ice trays that Wendy had dumped into her arms. Lexi went a little blank, looking more like the dolled-up, airhead minx they all knew.

"Well, okay, maybe I thought so at first, but not after... and then when Katie broke up with him last month, he was _devastated_, wasn't he?" She remembered breaking his heart once before... god, they were both such bitches... but that poor kid just couldn't take a hint. "The kid's straight, sweetie." But there was none of her usual affection in the pet name.

Wendy's gaze was bitingly cold; she had dropped all pretend politeness. "If you're observant enough to notice any 'attraction' my boyfriend has for his best friend, maybe you should turn around and look closer at the boy _you're _obviously interested in –"

"You're one to talk!" Lexi shouted, and Bebe heard the noise from downstairs die down in what she supposed was an effort to better hear the fight upstairs. "I saw you the other day with Eric Cartman!"

The silence that followed was thick and heavy. "Oh!" cried Bebe weakly as a few of the trays slipped from her arms and ice cubes went all over the floor. Wendy didn't seem to notice, even though a few of the ice cubes slid against her bare feet; her face was white and her jaw was clenched tightly.

"Get out."

"What?"

"Get the fuck out of my house!" Wendy snarled, looking murderous. It was dangerous to aggravate Wendy this much, Lexi knew it, even though she was sorely tempted to flip Wendy off – or better yet, throw something heavy at her.

"Fine." No more than two seconds had passed before the front door swung shut behind her, leaving a deafening echo in the front hall. Bebe looked horrified, her hands and knees soaking from where she'd dropped the ice.

"Holy... shit...."

* * *

"_The Legislative Branch_..._ Eric Cartman_."

_No, that isn't right_, he scolded himself mentally, deleting legislative and replacing it with the word judicial. He had Kenny on his mind and it was messing up his ability to concentrate. Not that it mattered much, he'd already finished the rough draft of the report, all he was doing now was typing it up on his computer. And it was still Saturday night; if he finished this before he fell asleep, he'd have all of Sunday and Monday to relax – and scheme up ways to cheat Kyle out of those fifty dollars. No... cheat wasn't the right word. He was playing fair.

By his rules, at least.

But Kenny's accusation had unnerved him.... "_Do you like her?_" Well, wasn't it obvious to anyone with eyes that he didn't? The two had been sworn enemies since they could walk and talk, and on more than one occasion they'd actually beat the living shit out of each other. Cartman wasn't a fan of love/hate romances, mainly because he couldn't understand falling for someone you'd like better dead. Like... Kyle. He gave a deep shudder, trying to push the thought out of his mind.

Maybe Kenny had a point; how was he supposed to make her like him when he couldn't even hold a conversation with her without the word "bitch" or "ho" slipping out? At first he'd aimed just to push her buttons enough to get her curious in what all he really knew about Stan, but that phase was already over. Now he had to somehow convince her that he was more than just a lying asshole who wanted to hurt her, and how the hell was he supposed to do that when it wasn't true?

His sentences were riddles with typos, mainly because he was thinking about Kenny and Wendy instead of law and couldn't be bothered to run a spell check. Maybe what he was doing was completely heartless and selfish, but, he tried to reassure himself, in her own interest, she was probably better off without Stan than with him. And what _had_ Stan and Kyle been doing at lunch that day? It was brilliant blackmail that Cartman hadn't counted on, an ally that Cartman hadn't considered... and it could turn this bet in his favor if he could find out what it was.

_There_. _All done_. He'd double-check it in the morning... right now he was tired as hell. He gave a satisfied smile at the glowing computer screen, feeling actual accomplishment for something he hadn't done with malicious intent.

He hadn't even known it possible.

* * *

Wendy sighed and pressed herself up against the door as her last guest – Bebe – finally left. Sliding down the door and into a crouched position on the floor, she wrapped her arms around her legs and buried her face in her knees, half ready to burst into tears.

She hoped Lexi was alright, that she'd made it home safely; maybe they weren't exactly the best of friends, but their houses were a few miles apart and South Park nights were always the coldest. She hadn't _meant_ to provoke Lexi... well, not anymore than to get her to spill what she knew about Stan to justify her accusation, anyway. She _certainly_ hadn't meant to initiate _that_. It was just that... she bit her lip to suppress a whimper. Stan _wasn't_ gay. He liked _her_. Maybe even _loved_ her. They'd been together for so long.... Alright, they'd had horrible break-ups, terrible fights, but... but they'd always made it past those.

Wendy stood up, pulling herself together. Cartman was right.

She'd prove that bitch Lexi wrong.

* * *

"L-Lexi, w-wake up!"

"...huh?"

Lexi opened her pale eyes groggily, smiling as her vision came into focus and she saw Butters' panicked face above her. "Oh... morning, cutie." Butters blushed and jumped away from her, and she couldn't deny that she liked the reaction.

"Y-you'd better get outta here," he stuttered nervously as Lexi crawled up out of the nest of clothes she'd made in Butters' closet. "M-my parents just left for the store, I-I don't want you to get caught or nothin', so y-you'd better leave now...."

She batted her eyelashes with a pretty smile. "Aw, you don't want me to stay?" It was obvious, though, by his expression, that he _didn't_, so she gave him a playful raspberry before huffing, "Fine. I'm going."

Butters looked immediately apologetic; could the kid take a joke? "I-it's just that I don't want you to get caught, and th-they just left –"

"No, sweetie, I'm just kidding," she explained, patting him on the shoulder, to which he blushed again. "I don't wanna get either of us in trouble, you really put your ass on the line, letting me stay the night."

"O-oh, well... it was nothin', I guess." He was fidgeting with the cuff of his sleeve (he'd already changed) obviously unsure whether or not the statement was meant as a compliment. "Besides, it was cold, a-and what kinda dirty son of a bitch would I be i-if I –"

"Well, it was good of you, anyway," she cut him off. She pulled on the hoodie she'd worn to Wendy's house and stepped out of the closet past Butters, getting her first good look at his room – last night he'd pushed her too quickly into the closet to see much of anything.

The room was too-tidy, and all over the ocean blue walls hung expressionless paintings reminiscent of those you might find in a hotel room. Flowers... sailboats... smiling children with small animals... They reminded her of Butters. "You paint all these yourself, hon?"

Butters turned to see the pictures she was looking at and nodded meekly. "I s'pose so...."

"Wow." Then she headed, dreamlike, out of the room. Wondering if that was all she was going to say before leaving, he followed her out onto the landing; but she was already at the front door.

"Bye, sweetie!" she called, pulling open the door. "I'll see you at school tomorrow! Thanks again!" And the door swung shut behind her, leaving a bright pink Butters to wonder if she'd ever said "thanks" a first time.

_Well_, she thought as she stepped out into the crisp morning air. _Just _try_ and beat me down again, Wendy_. She hoped Wendy was feeling guilty about kicking her out right about now. She didn't think she'd mention to her that she'd spent the night comfortable and warm in an old friend's house. No... let Wendy torture herself for a while. _Let_ her wonder if Lexi had spent the night trudging home through the dark and cold.

She _had_, though, she admitted to herself, been lucky that the Stotch household had only been a block away... and that they'd left their front door unlocked. She knew the house; she and Butters shared a few of the same classes and had spent a good amount of time at each other's homes, working into the late hours of the night on sadistically complicated school projects. She'd pulled open the door and made sure not to set off any alarms, though as they didn't lock their doors she assumed they didn't care much for security.

She hadn't known where Butters' room was, but the upper story of the house was simply laid out, and he had a plaque hanging on the door with his full name on it. _What a nerd_, she thought fondly. God, he'd gone ballistic when she woke him up and asked to stay... well, jumped on top of him with a quiet growl and purred, "Wanna have a slumber party, baby?" Probably not the best way to break into a house.

"Jesus Christ!" he'd screamed, muffled, because she'd thrown a pillow over his mouth to suffocate the noise. When she removed it, he'd panted out, "Wh-what the hell are you doing here?"

"I'm running away," she lied, scooting down to the foot of the bed so he had more space to think. "Mind if I stay for a night? It'll only be one, I promise." He'd given one sweeping glance around the room before sliding off the bed and dragging her to the closet, lowering his voice, obviously paranoid.

"I-if it's really only one night..." he'd told her, though she could tell by the worried look in his eyes that he'd let her stay for more if he wasn't so afraid of getting caught by his parents with a girl in his room. "I'll let you stay... but d-don't make a sound, o-or my parents will kill us both." She'd given him a generous grin.

"Thanks, sweetheart."

"N-no problem...." Then, face flushed, he'd closed the closet door on her, shutting her into complete blackness that was however uncomfortable considerably preferable to the cold outside.

Lexi reached her front door and kicked it open, thinking as she walked in how much nicer the Stotch home was. She collapsed at her kitchen table and kicked off her icy boots, preoccupied with the mental image of Butters' pink cheeks as he promised her a place for the night. _Gay my ass_, she thought with a satisfied smile.


	7. Chapter 7

**To the Count of Twenty**

Before we plow on with this chapter, I feel I have to explain something or else suffer the wrath of angry Kyle fans around the world: I'm aware that Kyle is definitely intelligent enough to be in geometry in ninth grade. But, if their high school is anything like mine, you can elect _not_ to take advanced courses even if you are qualified. It's my personal opinion that Kyle would choose to stay in algebra so as to be with his friends.

One other thing... Kenny is actually my favorite character, too, but it would be an absolute crime to his character if I let him stay alive for more than two days at a time! XD

* * *

**chapter seven**

Even if it was algebra, it was the class everyone looked forward to, because it was the only class they all had together... except for Wendy, who was in geometry, and Cartman, who was just unlucky.

The seating was alphabetical, but you wouldn't know it by the way the class arranged themselves. "Marsh" and "McCormick" might be given relatives, but "Broflovski" certainly didn't belong in between the two. And "Stotch" didn't belong halfway across the room with "Pirrup," but couldn't help it, because Butters' assigned seat next to Bebe "Stevens" varied depending on her current boyfriend; this week's guest was Clyde.

Stan slid into his seat just as the bell rang, Kenny and Kyle giving him little waves in hello. "Where were you?" Kyle whispered while their teacher moved up to the front of the classroom to start the lesson and settle the class down.

"Bathroom. Taking a dump."

Kenny pulled a face in disgust, shaking his head as if to wipe out the mental image. "Thanks for sharing, man." Stan beamed.

"I just care more."

"Quiet, please," the teacher instructed sharply, not enough to stop every conversation in the room, but enough to lower the volume of the classroom so that she could be heard. The three boys perched their chins on their hands, pretending to be listening angelically. The teacher obviously had little control on them, however, as the seating changed regularly and no one ever made an effort to stop it.

"It seems," she began, giving a little frown to a few of the girls who were still whispering amongst themselves. "That ever since last week's accident, the school has been under increasing pressure from parents to up their level of involvement in pupil safety. So, instead of today's regular lesson plan, we will be watching a video on school rules, regulations, and expected conduct." A few students gave fake moans, but the truth was that a video – even one on school policy – was a welcome break from math equations. "Mr. Stotch, please, would you go out and fetch the television from the supply closet?"

It took a moment before Butters even realized that the teacher was speaking to him; his thoughts had been preoccupied on the seat in front of him. At the quiet giggles and sudden stares in his direction, though, he jerked out of his daydream. "I-I'm sorry... what?" The teacher frowned.

"The television, please, Mr. Stotch, if you _don't_ mind."

"O-oh... sorry, ma'am.." he apologized, and, giving a clumsy nod, stood up and hurried out the door to retrieve the television. There were a few more giggles before the low buzz of whispers filled the room once again as they waited for Butters to return.

"Man," Clyde laughed, grinning at Bebe. "What's that kid's problem, huh?" Bebe smiled politely at her boyfriend, but had a pretty good feeling she knew exactly what his problem was. Ever since Saturday, she'd been doubly aware of her surroundings, and especially the people in them. She'd been watching Butters since he'd come in the classroom, and watching the boy he was staring at, too....

But Pip Pirrup was just sitting in his chair, doodling on a scrap piece of paper, completely oblivious.

As the door swung shut behind Butters, Bebe turned her vision to the other boy she'd been keeping close tabs on all day – Stan. For Wendy's sake, she didn't want to believe that what Lexi said was true, but the fact was that the girl had amazing intuition that was accurate nine times out of ten. But he was just chatting with his two best friends, dropping no hints of his alleged attraction.

"He actually finished, you know," Kenny explained to shocked faces. "I read the thing, he did a pretty good job."

"No way," Kyle breathed in disbelief. "_Cartman?_ _Assignment?_ The words sound _unnatural_ in the same sentence."

"Way. No Cheesy Poof stains or anything."

"_I'm_ impressed."

"Hey, Kyle," Stan chuckled, prodding his friend in the shoulder with the eraser end of his pencil. "Don't look, but Bebe back there is totally scoping you out." Kyle threw back his head in a short laugh that would've been louder if they hadn't been sitting in the middle of a classroom.

"Quick – laugh like I'm saying something witty and see if she wets herself with desire."

That was the first time Stan felt it. A quick pang of jealousy that shot from his head to his fists, which had clenched involuntarily. In a second it was over and he wrenched his hands open, face glowing with embarrassment at the sudden – and unexpected – reaction.

_Wh_... _what was that?_ he thought with a horror-stricken expression on his face, the feeling completely foreign to him. _That's never happened before_. Kyle and Kenny were frowning at his face, which was an obvious giveaway to his discomfort.

"You okay there?" Kenny asked through his hood, eyebrows raised. Stan nodded without meeting his eyes.

"Yeah... just... something in my stomach," he lied. "Didn't agree with me. I think I'm coming down with something." His two friends scooted away from him, fearful of one of his puking fits. Stan fought to control a bought of shakes that he felt coming on, his body's natural reaction to shock. Then his reaction to fear kicked in, and his stomach really _did_ give a lurch. "I... I'm gonna be sick...!" He bolted out of his seat and raced for the door, wrenching it open even as his teacher cried out his name, ordering him to sit back down at once.

Vomit hit the carpeted floor hard and sprayed his shoes. He clutched the wall for support, breathing heavily. Was that _jealousy?_ Had he just felt _jealousy_ over Kyle? Not _of_ him, but _over_ him? He felt like his knees were about to give way.

"_You're the only one of us who hasn't always been a complete bastard_...." _"I actually appreciate it, you know, what you're doing for_ _me_...." "_What if _I _was just some girl?_" "_You don't lead people on like that!_ _What if some chick really liked you, huh?_" "_Count me in_. _That girl has got the greatest rack known to man_."

No way... no... no fucking way... the past few days... they were just... they weren't... they hadn't meant anything, he hadn't meant any of that... he didn't... he _couldn't_....

"Woah... a-are you o-okay, Stan?" came Butters' concerned voice behind him. He whipped around to see him wheeling a cart equipped with a television and VCR down the hallway, biting his lip, eyes fixed on the pool of sick on the ground.

"O-oh..." stuttered Stan, cheeks burning. He'd forgotten that Butters was out here. "Yeah, yeah, I'm fine, just a little sick... tell Mrs. Rooney that I went to the clinic, okay?" Butters nodded.

"Sure... feel better, okay?"

"Yeah... thanks...." Then he disappeared down the hallway. Butters shook himself back to earth and pushed the cart into the ajar algebra door, greeted immediately by the teacher's furious face.

"Where is Mr. Marsh?!" she demanded, spitting as she did so.

"H-he uh... he went to the clinic," he replied nervously, feeling that he'd missed something while he'd been out.

Bebe stiffened in her seat.

* * *

"Wendy, could you collect all the reports, please?"

Wendy slid out of her seat with a smile, proud to be the teacher's favorite, and grabbed her lengthy report, making her way around the room to stack everyone else's on top of it – and examining them quickly to make sure they weren't any better than hers.

When she made her way to Cartman's seat, her face was split into a smile. "Well, Cartman, do you have anything for me today?" It was a running joke that only Wendy thought funny. Her face, however, went blank as he actually rummaged around in his backpack and pulled out a neatly stapled report of his own. He grinned at her open mouth.

"Yes ma'am," he replied in mock politeness. "No Cheesy Poof stains or anything." She struggled to find her voice.

"Wow... you actually _did_ it?"

"You had your doubts?" Wendy rolled her eyes with a grin, but it wasn't the sarcastic one she usually reserved for him.

"None at all, Ca –"

"Wendy," the teacher's voice interrupted, making her jump a little. "Please. The reports." Blushing slightly, she grabbed Cartman's report and stacked it on top of all the other's, finishing her route, wishing for the first time in her life she'd had a chance to talk to Cartman.

Back at his seat, he found he was wishing the same thing.

* * *

The video wasn't exactly the height of entertainment, and before long, the class was full of quiet conversations that the teacher didn't have the energy to try and stop. Kyle and Kenny were laughing about something (god only knows what), Bebe was wishing Clyde would shut up so that she could listen in, and Butters was back in his seat with that same glazed expression on his face.

The back of Pip's head wasn't very exciting, but Butters was too out of it to care. The two of them always sat in this back corner together, because unlike everyone else in the class, they had no one to sit next to. Butters hadn't always been such a loner; though he'd always been teased a lot in elementary and middle school, he'd always had friends, too. Recently, though, as he'd become more absorbed in his art, he'd lost interest in his relationships, and they'd all died. And Pip... well, Pip had never really had much luck with his peers. The irony was that he _did_ almost always have girlfriends, but it was mainly because he never said "no" and because girls loved his accent. Butters was the only South Park boy who liked it, too.

There had been times when they were younger that they'd played together, but they'd never been close, and Butters was too shy to ever initiate a conversation with the boy who'd sat one seat in front of him the whole year. He'd faced way too much rejection in his life. He settled for watching Pip slack off during class; he was always doodling something. He wasn't a fantastic artist, it had to be said, but it was amusing to watch _what_ he scribbled. Eyes, faces, hands... personal things that Butters would never allow himself to draw in plain sight. Because Butters _was_ good, and it was always quite obvious who he was drawing....

"Jesus, Stotch, if you stare at Pip any longer your eyes are gonna bleed."

Butters jerked violently at the teenage girl's voice, and Pip whipped around, too, at the mention of his name. As he turned in his chair to see who'd just dared to shout that at him, his foot snagged on the television cord and the cart gave a horrible lurch. A few people screamed and a few cried "Watch out!" as the cart tipped forward and the television hurtled through the air, crashing with the shattering of glass and crunching of bone right onto Kenny. There were a few more screams as the destroyed television flickered threateningly and poor Kenny's blood started seeping across the carpet. Kyle froze for a moment before turning around and screaming at Butters, "You _bastard_!"

Butters looked completely horrified, untangling his foot from the cord as every eye in the classroom turned to him. "I... I d-didn't m-mean to... i-it was... I-I didn't...." But no one seemed to accept this strangled apology, and within seconds an uproar of insults and accusations came flying at the paling blonde. "I-I...." The roaring of the class went on for nearly a minute, Butters looking on the verge of tears, until a voice to the right of Butters rang out furiously.

"Stop it! Stop it right now!" It was Pip, and he'd stood up from his desk, glaring at the class. Butters sunk into his chair, but Pip cast kind eyes his way. "Can't you see it was an accident? It wasn't his fault!" There was a momentary silence before scattered giggles broke out and Pip had to shield himself from the torrent of crumpled paper balls that came flying his way. When someone threw a textbook at him and knocked him unconscious to the floor, Butters was the only one who didn't laugh.

Pip ended up in the clinic with Stan, as did the very flattened body of Kenny.

* * *

Butters had been subjected to a horrible bus ride home, and he was grateful now that he was finally in walking distance of his house and quite out of the way of any classmates. But even though the day had been awful, and he had guilt concerning Kenny hanging over him, he couldn't help but smile as he stepped through his door.

Pip had stood up for him. Pip Pirrup had stood up for someone, and it had been him.

Pip had always been so upbeat and optimistic, even as a little child while taking beatings, but this virtue was also a personality flaw, because it meant being something of a doormat. In his head, Butters would shout profane things to the older kids that bullied Pip, but he'd never say them out loud. Butters was too shy, even if Pip _was_ the nicest boy he'd ever known, the kindest boy he'd ever known, the purest, the prettiest....

Butters dropped his backpack to the floor and raced up the stairs, breathing heavily. If only he was stronger, more charismatic, if he knew how to throw a punch... no one knew how often he practiced these imaginary scenarios in his room, no one knew the hours he'd spent talking to himself, pretending it was someone else... how often he reached out a hand to someone who wasn't there. He practiced smiling just the right way after rescuing the shorter blonde from the taunting he faced every day. But Butters... he slammed his bedroom door behind him. He was such a pussy. Pip, of all people, had to stand up for _him_.

But it wasn't so bad... being protected.

He wrenched open the bottom drawer of his dresser, revealing a collection of sketches that were quite different from the watercolors on his walls. Eyes, faces, hands, the exact things Pip always drew... and each picture _was_ Pip. He pulled out the huge stacks of loose papers and they scattered all over the floor, black and white images of Pip smiling, Pip screaming, Pip crying, Pip blushing, Pip napping in class... he was grateful that he'd chosen not to hide this collection in his closet as he had once contemplated doing. If anyone _– especially_ Lexi, reputed for her gossip – found out, his life of comfort and security would be over. No one could know. No one could _ever_ know.

Surrounded by the pencil drawings that had consumed his life, he imagined for the first time that Pip was holding out a hand to _him_, wiping the blood off his cheek with his thumb, smiling and asking if he was okay. He grinned, heart racing. He was such a girl. And now that Pip had finally acknowledged his existence... he wouldn't have it any other way.


	8. Chapter 8

**To the Count of Twenty**

Sorry for the delay, the new school year has been keeping me busy; updates might be coming in later, but I'll try my best to keep them quick. Anyway, I need to say a few things and answer some questions, otherwise my next A/N will be twenty pages long. ;;

First, a HUGE thank you to everyone who has reviewed this fic, especially those of you faithful readers, your reviews really brighten my day. I'm a geek like that.

Second, I have been letting questions stagnate in my review box for ages and need to get them answered before I start receiving letters filled with dog feces.

(This is the question that I keep meaning to answer but forget every time, so here are your dues, Zack.) I noticed the car joke at Raisins too, so I _am_ pretty sure her real name is Lexus, but Butters seemed to call her "Lexi" all the time and it was just too cute. (Or maybe I imagined it, but it's too late to fix it now!) I figure most people would call her by this nickname, although Cartman does make a reference to the actual name in this chapter. I hope that will appeaseyou.

Next, Kyle. I really see the kid as a kind of "book smart street stupid" guy, which is mostly how his character appears here. The immaturity is due to the fact that... well... do you know any fifteen year old boys? But yeah, I think he's probably the most mature (i.e. least likely to get them all killed) of the group, which starts showing up in later chapters. Different question, same person: if it's hard to tell who's talking, it's probably because I haven't assigned a specific character to the line. I'm lazy like that. ;; Otherwise, though, I'll try to make it more clear.

Moving right along, I definitely wouldn't say Butters is strictly gay. I mean, he still acts like a total geek around girls, and I'd say he actually leans towards them. Still, the cliche that Butters has a crush on one of the South Park boys is too much fun to pass up.

LASTLY (and everyone is allowed to cheer) the "accident" was indeed a reference to Kenny's first death. Although none of his friends ever seem to care when he dies, I suspect the school might.

Right. Now you're free to go ahead and read chapter eight. (Which may actually be slightly shorter than the intro, haha.)

* * *

**chapter eight**

He threw his backpack up onto the steps, and for a brief moment considered going up to do his homework, but the allure of the couch made him decide against it, and so Cartman flopped sideways onto it, digging between the cushions to find the remote. He flipped through channels disinterestedly, munching on a bag of Cheesy Poofs that he'd left there the previous evening.

This was how he spent the majority of his afternoons, unless by some miracle he'd gotten off his ass to make plans with one of his friends. Usually Kenny; Stan and Kyle spent all their time together, and it bugged the hell out of him. Today, however, Stan had bailed on his little boyfriend and Kyle opted to spend the day with Kenny instead. Cartman couldn't bother being offended. After all, he'd kicked him out of his house into the freezing cold just a couple days ago. He couldn't be that anxious to come back.

So when the phone rang, he assumed it was his mom's boyfriend, and let her pick it up. It came as an abrupt surprise when she called out, "Eric, honey! Phone's for you!" He wondered if maybe it was a bored Tolken, a lonely Tweek, or if Stan had just gone completely mental.

But, for the second time this week, it was Wendy on the line for him.

"Uh... hey...." he greeted, not masking the surprise in his voice. She grinned invisibly.

"How's it?"

"What do you want?" he asked shortly, forgetting that he was supposed to be making her fall in love him, because quite frankly he knew she hadn't called for a friendly chat and he was curious as to what she could possibly need him for.

"Well I didn't really get a chance to speak to you in civics the other day –" good lord, she remembered that? "– and I'd been wanting to run something by you."

"Shoot," he said distractedly, still fazed by the call.

"Just something Lexi said the other day." And here, he honestly did start to believe that she was going to go off about boys and make-up and maybe ask his opinion on a sweater she was buying. Fortunately, he was only one out of three. "I called Kyle but no one picked up, but then I figured you'd know too." Of course she'd called Kyle first. For some reason, though, the fact stung. "She said something about Stan being... well... y'know... _funny_...." Her voice was so awkward that Cartman started laughing out loud.

"Seriously?"

"Yeah...." She twisted the phone cord around her finger nervously. "He isn't, is he?"

"Hell no," he responded, before he realized that it might've been a good idea to sound hesitant about it, because Wendy doubting Stan's sexuality would definitely be a plus in his direction. Oh well. It was probably too late to add in 'But I did happen to see him frenching Butters behind the toolshed yesterday.' "That Lexus chick said he was?"

And here she dropped her voice to a whisper, as though confiding something to Cartman, which surprised her looking back on it. "Yeah... she thinks he's got it bad for Kyle."

He could actually hear bells.

Oh, this was _too perfect_... if Lexi was the one spreading the rumor, it was bound to be _everywhere_ by now. And going to the source and asking her straight-out what she knew wouldn't be difficult; any excuse to gossip was welcome by her. Fanning the flames would require so little effort he almost considered not doing it, but god he'd love to get Stan by the balls like this. And that lunchtime absence... he didn't have to know what had actually happened. It was enough to know that it _had_ happened. He'd crush Stan and Kyle. For some reason, this had become direly important to him, but he didn't know why. Revenge for a crime they didn't commit? Who cared.

Apparently he'd been silent for too long, absorbed in his thoughts, because Wendy asked hesitantly, "You still there?" Cartman jerked out of his sick little fantasy, nodding.

"Yeah... yeah, sorry."

She laughed a little. "Listen, I've gotta run, but thanks so much, Lexi had me really freaked out."

"You're going?" Cartman asked too quickly, an oddly desperate tone in his voice, as though he actually wanted her to stay, which was absurd. "Where?" Why did he care?

"Stan's, naturally." He could almost hear her grin over the phone. "I just needed some reassurance before I headed over there to extinguish that bitch's rumor with a nice round of tonsil hockey." Way too much information.

"O-oh...?"

"Yeah... but really, I should get going, his house is pretty far and I'd like to be back by six. Thanks again, Eric, see you tomorrow in civ." There was a click and she was gone, dial tone ringing in his ear.

In any other circumstance, the fact that she considered them on a first-name basis now would've thrilled him, one step closer to securing that bet, but he hadn't even noticed it, and as he hung up the phone he trembled slightly. Immediately he tried to snap himself out of it, scolding himself mentally. He shouldn't be reacting this way. Wendy didn't mean anything to him... she was just an obstacle in the way of his fifty dollars.

So why didn't it feel like that?

He trudged up the stairs heavily, kicking his backpack aside and hating everything, but especially hating Stan. What the fuck did Wendy see in him, anyway? His intelligence wasn't that impressive, and next to Kyle it seemed even less so; in any case, he couldn't have been much smarter than Cartman, even if he _did_ do his homework on a more regular basis. His sense of humor was definitely lacking, his loyalty couldn't stand up to much, and his resolve was embarrassingly weak, as was his stomach. Christ, a girl couldn't get near him without him ralfing all over her. Did girls find that attractive?

Cartman flinched. Attractiveness... yeah. Stan had that much over him. It wasn't exactly a close competition, either. Even Cartman could tell the guy was gorgeous, and a football player besides. And Cartman.... He fought against his impulse to glance at the mirror on their landing, but he ended up caving anyway, and hated the reflection. He suddenly loathed the bag of Cheesy Poofs he'd left on the couch.

He'd taken the fatass jokes for years, and he couldn't lie and say they didn't bother him, but he'd just become so used to it that it was now his second nature to deflect them with an insult and leave it at that. For the first time since he was a kid, he actually felt crippled by his weight, an inferiority that no amount of blackmail could overcome. Although....

He locked the bathroom door behind him, a bead of sweat trickling down his forehead. Maybe it was a total chick thing, but... well, it worked, didn't it? He turned the faucet of the sink until water was pounding loud enough against the porcelain that it would mask the noise. Knowing and hating that he was being such a coward, and no better than Stan certainly, he fell to his knees in front of the toilet and rolled up his sleeves.

* * *

"Please?"

"No."

"Come on, Kyle."

"I'm _not_ doing your homework, Kenny."

"Five dollars."

"What?"

"I'll pay you five dollars to do my algebra."

"Do you even _have_ five dollars?"

"No, but I could hock a lung or something."

Kyle laughed and flopped backwards onto Kenny's wiry bed, noticing that Kenny had taped a new poster to his ceiling. A chick _and_ a car. Kenny must've pissed himself when he found it. "Nice poster, man."

"Yeah, I know... how do you factor trinomials?"

Kyle snorted and rolled his eyes. "Kenny...."

"What?" he asked innocently, glancing up at Kyle from the floor where he was sprawled out with a textbook. "Maybe I'd be able to concentrate better if you weren't here distracting me... you know... letting you come over spur of the moment like that...." He gave a loud, fake sigh. "The least you could do is help me out with my homework."

"Oh, for god's sake. Fine. Move over." Kenny grinned and scooted a few inches to the left, Kyle sliding off the bed and situating himself next to him, so that one of the boys was on either side of the textbook. "What do you need help with?" Kenny pointed.

"This second problem here." Kyle scribbled a quick answer. "And then this third one." Another answer. "And the one under it. And so on until you reach the end of the page." Kyle raised his eyebrows and Kenny rolled onto his back, laughing. Kyle shut the book, slid it away from them, and chucked the pencil at Kenny's head, which only made him laugh harder.

"You're hopeless."

"I know." He let out a loud exhale, eyes still at the ceiling, obviously not in the mood to do homework anyway. "Hey... totally irrelevant question... but d'you think Cartman's been acting weird lately?" Kyle wondered if this was supposed to be a rhetorical question. "Well, weirder. You know. Around Wendy?"

Kyle frowned and turned on his side to look at Kenny, whose hood had slipped off during his laughing fit and revealed his face to be genuinely curious. "I haven't really noticed... but I don't hang out with him as much as you do." His frown lines became deeper. "He _did_ do that civics assignment, though."

"Yeah. Well, he's trying to seduce her or something." Kyle choked on a laugh. "To win that bet of yours." Kyle's eyes got wide. He hadn't known that Kenny knew about the bet. However, as he was smiling, Cartman obviously hadn't let him in on the details. "But I think he likes her."

Kyle's look was skeptical. "I doubt it... I mean, he does tend to go a little above and beyond when money's involved. I think fifty dollars is a fair price for him."

"Forty," Kenny corrected automatically. Kyle didn't ask. "But you should hear him talk about her. And have you seen those two together? Stan would absolutely murder Eric if he saw the way they looked at each other."

"What... you think that Wendy...?"

"Oh, no," Kenny replied quickly, shaking his head, which would've had more effect if he wasn't lying down and still looking at the ceiling as though that was who he was talking to. "No, even if all Cartman does want is to win this bet, I don't think there's much of a chance that Wendy would ever go for him. But it's weird, you know. To see them look at each other like anything less than enemies."

"I really hadn't noticed...."

"You should pay more attention." But Kenny was still smiling, and he'd finally glanced over at Kyle, who looked flustered. "Do you think Stan really likes Wendy that much?"

It was a stupid question. "Yeah, dude... I mean, they've kept coming back to each other for... like... almost seven years, haven't they?" But at the slightly crestfallen look on Kenny's face, he followed up quickly, "Why?"

"He's not such a bad guy, Cartman," Kenny said fondly. "Maybe you just don't know him as well as me, but I think he genuinely likes that chick... he's so bent on beating you guys. That paper he wrote was pretty fucking good." He turned back to the ceiling. "The thing is, I don't think he even realizes he likes her. Still, you should've seen his face when I accused him of it. I thought maybe if Stan didn't like Wendy that much you could just throw the bet. You know. For a friend."

Kyle bit his lip. Kenny looked so much older without that hood.

* * *

God, that doorbell chime was annoying.

"Could you get the door, Stanley?"

He flipped off the tv and groaned. "Yeah...." He slid off the sofa, trying not to look too pissed, and pulled open the door.

"Hey, Stan."

"Oh... hey, Wendy...." He grinned stupidly, not having expected her to show up at his door like this. "I didn't forget about a date or anything, did I?" She smiled and shook her head.

"No, I just thought I'd drop by for a few minutes, I was on my way to Bebe's house anyway." One little lie wouldn't kill him. "You're not doing anything, are you?"

"No." But he _had_ stayed home from school today being "sick"; he wondered if Wendy had even noticed.

"Good."

"You can come in if you'd –" But she hadn't given him the opportunity to finish. She'd barely taken one step into the house before pinning Stan against the door with her arms and grabbing his lips with hers, to hell with the wind and snow that was flying in through the open frame. Stan's eyes went wide, and when Wendy pulled away he was breathless. "W... wha...."

"Yes?" The look in her eyes was criminal.

He was about to ask what the hell she was doing, wasn't she still furious at him? but across the road he caught a glimpse of Ike walking down the street with a few of his friends, and his thoughts flickered instantly to Kyle, the word "fag" screaming somewhere behind his eyes. He clutched his heart in an almighty attempt to catch his breath.

"Do that again."

* * *

Walking Kyle home was a lame excuse to stop by Cartman's, and Kenny knew it. Hell, Kyle knew it, but he hadn't commented. It was just the fact that he hadn't talked to Cartman all day, and after talking to Kyle he'd made himself a little worried, but he had too much pride to dial him up and ask how he was feeling this lovely evening; besides, his phone line was down. Nothing ever worked right at the McCormick household. He was used to it.

Three raps on the door. Mrs. Cartman answered. Surprising; Mrs. Cartman was usually occupied by this time of night. "Oh, hello."

"Eric home?"

She gave him a motherly smile and then called in that sing-song voice of hers, "Eric, hon!"

"I'm in the bathroom, mom!"

"One of your little friends is here to see you!"

Kenny could hear him mutter some obscenity in the background. Mrs. Cartman smiled as though nothing had happened and invited Kenny in, informing him that Eric would be out shortly. "Do you want anything to eat, sweetie? We just finished dinner." Kenny looked startled, but never turned down free food.

"Sure, thanks." He grabbed a chicken leg from the nearly empty table and stuffed a few rolls into his pockets when Cartman's mother had left the room. Then he headed upstairs, gnawing on the drumstick. He stopped at the upstairs bathroom door, where he could hear a steady stream going.

"That's one hell of a piss you're taking," he joked, mouth full of food, but he realized after a few more seconds that it couldn't possibly be Cartman; there was no way he could go that long. "Cartman?" It was the sink, he realized, and it wasn't stopping. "Eric?" Maybe he was being paranoid, but it had been a minute now and there was still no sound from the bathroom except the running water. "I'm coming in, Eric," he threatened, and when there was still no response, he grabbed the doorknob. Locked.

Well, Cartman really _was_ a dumbass if he didn't think Kenny could get in there. He unhooked one of the many safety pins he used to hold his jeans together and fiddled around with the keyhole until he heard a click from the inside. A satisfactory smile on his face, he wrenched open the door.

He dropped both the safety pin and the chicken leg.

"WHAT THE FUCK DO YOU THINK YOU'RE DOING?!" His response was irrational and pointless, looking back on it later, but animal instinct took over and he tackled Cartman to the floor, sliding the length of the bathroom until they were opposite the toilet, which was filled, by the looks of it, with tonight's chicken dinner. Kenny's stomach gave an uncomfortable lurch. "Eric...."

Cartman was pale and sweaty, and was staring in absolute terror at Kenny, who'd taken him by complete surprise. His hair was clinging to his forehead, and his finger was drenched in saliva. "I... what are you...?"

"You idiot!" Kenny cried, throwing his arms around him and feeling the tremors of his body. "You fucking idiot!" He drew away to look Cartman in the face, arms still around his shoulders, his eyes now noticeably bloodshot. Cartman's eyes were, on the contrary, so dead looking that it seemed unnatural that he would even recognize him.

"Kenny...."

"What are you doing?" Kenny asked in a strangled whisper, as if talking to someone on their deathbed. "Why are you doing this? Why would you do this?" Cartman finally broke eye contact, looking down at the floor and wiping vomit from his lips.

"I like her."

Kenny looked at him in awe for a few silent seconds before pulling him into a brotherly embrace and letting out an exhale he hadn't realized he'd been holding.

"Yeah. I know."


	9. Chapter 9

**To the Count of Twenty**

* * *

**chapter nine**

Kyle frowned. Cartman, Liane. It seemed like a very Cartman thing to do to call during the middle of dinner, but at the same time, he couldn't fathom why Cartman would actually want to talk to him. But "Cartman, Liane" is what his caller ID read in flashing green. Reluctantly, he picked up, and muttered, "Hello?" into the phone.

"Kyle?"

"Oh. Kenny." Right. He'd been heading over there. "What's up?"

"Umm...." Kenny glanced across the bedroom as if to look for some thumbs-up from Cartman, but he'd been in the shower for the past fifteen minutes; he could hear the creaking of the plumbing. "You're not doing anything, are you?"

"Not if you don't count eating dinner," he replied, smiling wryly.

"Oh."

"Don't worry about it. What'd you want?"

He wasn't exactly sure _what_ he wanted. He just knew that if he didn't talk to someone he was going to explode; not that the feeling would be new to him, but it didn't change the fact that it wasn't a pleasant one. "Wendy called Cartman earlier, and uh... apparently she was going over to Stan's... maybe she's still there, have you heard from Stan?" Kyle wasn't sure where this was going.

"No...."

"Then she's probably still over there. I think she's... uhm... I think Stan's in some serious shit right now. Wendy uh... she heard some stupid rumor –" (he neglected to mention what the rumor was in order to spare Kyle some embarrassment) "– and really overreacted... I think you should go over there...."

Kyle laughed. "Dude, you're not making any sense."

"Just go over there," Kenny urged, a slight plea in his voice. "Or Wendy's going to make a huge mistake. If you care at all about Stan, get your ass over there." Kyle laughed again, but complied.

"If it'll shut you up... but you do realize you're being a total freak, right?"

"Of course."

Kyle snorted in response before hanging the phone back in its cradle, wondering what on earth had gotten into Kenny. What kind of "serious shit" could Stan possibly be in? Unless Wendy was planning to axe murder Stan, he couldn't see the justification in the worried tone of Kenny's voice. But he pulled on a coat anyway, because damn it all, now the curiosity would kill him if he didn't find out what was going on over there.

He made a mental note to kick Kenny's ass later.

* * *

It was a strange feeling, to be kissing her like this without the taste of vomit filling his mouth, but he'd been starving himself all day, too depressed to eat anything, so despite the empty retching, Wendy's kisses were going relatively uninterrupted. They'd finally had the sense to close the door behind them and move to the couch; going upstairs would've been a mistake, both of Stan's parents were up there. Mrs. Marsh usually didn't begin supper until at least six, so downstairs the two teenagers were guaranteed at least another half an hour worth of privacy.

Wendy was actually quite a kisser, a fact Stan had never been able to appreciate before due to the massive amount of puking he usually did around her. He could see through the window that the sky was darkening, and that the trip to Bebe's had obviously been a lie, but he honestly couldn't care less. Being pinned to a couch with a pretty girl grinding against you isn't a situation most boys take offense to.

It wasn't surprising that Kyle had been pushed completely from his mind, even though Kyle had occupied two whole days worth of his thoughts. After that incident in the hallway, Stan had been too ashamed to face Kyle at school the next day, and his parents hadn't questioned his bullshit claim to illness. He'd lain on the couch all day wondering what the hell had happened Tuesday, and why he'd felt that jealousy. He knew better than to think he liked Kyle. He just knew better. They were best friends. The end. Besides, he liked Wendy, and if these thoughts had still been circulating through his mind, this living room scenario would certainly be testament to the fact.

She parted his lips with her tongue, and again his stomach gave a fruitless lurch. She laughed at the sensation and pulled away from him, her eyes frosted over in something Stan couldn't identify. "You're such a spaz."

"I've been told," he breathed, and pulled her back down to him, urging her to continue. And he'd almost gotten his wish. God, he'd come so close. After years of waiting, didn't he deserve this one moment of happiness? But God doesn't play fair, and after scrambling over Wendy to reverse their positions, his vision flickered to the open windows of his living room, where an approaching figure was silhouetted against the orange sky. A redheaded boy in a green hunter's cap was walking up his driveway.

"Kyle," Stan muttered in candid surprise into Wendy's open mouth.

The effect this one word had was amazing; Wendy gave a yelp and fell sideways off the couch, hitting the ground unattractively. Her face went pale, her eyes went wide, and horror was evident in the way her mouth hung open.

"Wh... what?"

Stan shook his head furiously, realizing what he'd just done and trying to come up with a plausible excuse as he said it. "I just saw him –"

"You!" she roared, pushing herself off the floor and trembling with rage. "How – how dare you!" Her words were shaking. "How could you –"

"No," Stan choked, his voice dying somewhere in his throat, feeling as though he were trapped in some bad comedy. "No, he's outside –"

"I can't believe you!" she shrieked, and Stan was sure by now his parents were listening. "Kyle? _Kyle?!_ While I was – god!"

"Please!" Stan tried again, but she'd already turned on her heel and wrenched open the front door, face gone from ghost white to brick red, the frosted expression in her eyes vanished completely. She'd made it down the steps when she spotted Kyle, and in an act of nature that was hardly rare for Wendy, fury stood in the way of logic. It didn't occur to her that maybe Stan had seen him through the window; all she knew was that right in front of her was the boy her boyfriend had just had the nerve to speak of while _she_ kissed him. And _god_ she hated him.

When Kyle lifted his eyes to hers, his immediate thought was that she was going to rip out his throat, or at least his balls, the way her hands were clenched. Instead, she looked away but spat in a bitter voice that was obviously directed at him, "Have fun with your _boyfriend_, Broflovski."

He wheeled around to stare at her, but she was already halfway down the sidewalk, her body heat literally visible in the cold mountain air. He raised his eyebrows and gave a low whistle before stepping in the open Marsh residence, Stan still sprawled dumbstruck on the couch.

"Would it be rude if I asked you what the fuck just happened?"

Kyle actually speaking seemed to jar Stan out of his stupor. He gave an awkward jump into a sitting position, and made a wide gesture with his hand that he obviously expected Kyle to understand.

"Er...?"

"_What_," Stan asked, as if speaking to the mentally impaired. "_What_ are you _doing_ here?" Kyle raised an eyebrow.

"Kenny called and told me I should come over. He said something about... Wendy...? I dunno, he called from Cartman's place and sounded worried, and what the _hell_ just happened with Wendy anyway?"

Stan went pink. "I don't know... she just showed up here and started... _making out_ with me, man...."

"Well, she looked pretty pissed when I passed her on the sidewalk."

"Yeah, well –"

"She told me to have fun with my 'boyfriend,'" he added with a smirk. Stan gave a loud groan and fell backwards like he'd just been shot.

"Oh god, I'm going to kill you...." He buried his face in his hands, which muffled his words, but after years of listening to Kenny they just weren't terribly difficult to interpret. "I saw you coming through the window, and I..." (he let out another groan to compliment the first one) "...may or may not have moaned your name into her mouth."

Kyle had to pinch his nose to keep from snorting milk as he laughed out loud.

* * *

Cartman walked into his bedroom with a towel wrapped around his waist, glancing over at Kenny as he entered. He looked settled in; his shoes and parka were halfway across the room, and he'd helped himself to a comic book he was now reading cross-legged on the bed. Cartman grinned. "You staying the night?"

"Naturally," Kenny replied casually, setting down the comic book but turning around to allow Cartman some privacy while he got dressed. "Feel better?" God, he sounded like a chick.

"Yeah...." Cartman rummaged around his drawers for a pair of boxers. His face betrayed his discomfort, but it had very little to do with changing in the same room as Kenny. "Listen, uh... thanks for... you know... stopping by...." It would kill Cartman to give someone a proper thank-you, wouldn't it?

"Anytime."

"You'd better not mean that." Kenny laughed. That was more like Cartman.

It was strange – ironic, really – but Cartman had always struck him as someone with both very inflated pride and very little self confidence. Maybe like the way he constantly ragged on Kenny but then expected him to drop whatever he was doing at the drop of a hat to help him out. He shrugged. He knew Cartman liked him; hell, he liked Stan and Kyle for that matter. He just had a funny way of showing it. A maladjusted teenager for all the world.

"So what do you think?" Cartman asked, hopping onto the foot of the bed wearing a t-shirt and a pair of sweats. Kenny gave him a blank stare.

"About what?"

"About that rumor of Lexi's," Cartman answered, eyes glinting maliciously. Oh, here we go again....

"It's bullshit. And no one's going to believe it, sorry."

"I don't know," Cartman mused. "You remember Friday when they blew us off at lunch?" Kenny squinted, trying to remember.

"Not really...." Cartman huffed.

"Of course not, you were too busy stealing my food and contemplating sneaking into the classroom to steal some of Kyle's magazines."

Kenny shot Cartman a grin and a wink. "I'd bang your mom and I cannot lie." Cartman hit him over the head with one of his pillows.

"Neither Stan or Kyle will tell anyone what happened. (Well, me or Wendy, anyway.) It must've been something _bad_, and all we have to do is act like we know what it is –"

Kenny groaned. "No, no no no, I'm not going through this again."

"– with Lexi fueling the rumor, it has to be everywhere, hasn't it? We'll just... aid it a little."

"Cartman...."

"Lexi!"

"Cartman...."

"How late is it? D'you think she might be online?"

"I'm _not_ going to –"

But Cartman had already grabbed him by the wrist and dragged him across the room to his computer. Kenny's loud exhale was completely ignored by Cartman, who was signing on and searching through his buddy list for anyone who might know the brunette's screen name.

"Maybe I should've _let_ you puke your intestines out."

Cartman gave him a prompt punch.

* * *

Bebe dropped the phone onto the cradle and gave a little sigh. Wendy looked over at her from her bed. "What did your mom want?" Bebe glanced over at her black-haired best friend and rolled her eyes.

"She's coming over to pick me up in a few minutes. Wants me to be home for dinner."

"You could eat here, you know." Bebe laughed, as though this idea was funny.

"Nah, my mom's an anal-retentive bitch. Gotta eat with the family. Thanks for the offer, though." Wendy grinned.

"Well, I'll help you get your things together, then." The two girls had just finished stuffing all of Bebe's schoolbooks into her backpack when they heard a ringing from Wendy's dormant computer at the far corner of her room. Wendy seemed disinterested, but Bebe glanced up.

"I think someone's IMing you, Wendy."

Shrugging, she stood up and responded, "Yeah, I leave that thing on all the time, I keep forgetting to turn it off." But Bebe had switched on her monitor and was looking to see who it was, whether or not Wendy cared.

"'BigBoned,'" she said curiously. "Who's that?" Wendy giggled, then joined Bebe at the computer desk.

"Eric Cartman." Bebe gave her a look that made her laugh out loud.

"Why are you talking to Cartman?"

"I don't, actually," Wendy replied honestly, now turning curiously to the flashing AIM screen. "I've never talked to him online before. I only know the screen name because of Stan. We've talked over the phone a few times recently, but I can't think why.... What does he want?" she asked Bebe, as if she couldn't see the AIM window just as easily as her blonde friend could.

"He...." Bebe's face was impossible to read. "He wants to know Lexi's screen name...."

Wendy went abruptly pink, then pouted indignantly, "Well, I don't know it!"

"I do." As she typed it in and clicked 'send,' Wendy laughed haughtily.

"'CallMeMistress09?'"

"She's a bit... you know...."

"Yeah, well –" But the doorbell was ringing downstairs, cutting Wendy off rudely. Bebe looked immediately apologetic.

"Sorry," she said quickly, grabbing her backpack. "But that's probably my mom. I've gotta run... see you tomorrow at school."

"Yeah...." She was still staring incredulously at her computer monitor as Bebe made her way out of the room. Perhaps feeling sorry for her, Bebe decided to make a last comment before she slipped out the door.

"But Wendy...."

"Hm?"

"Don't take Lexi so seriously, okay? Because I've got a pretty good feeling she's not always right about everything."

Wendy raised her eyebrows. "What do you mean?"

Bebe grinned. "I happen to know who Butters Stotch likes."


	10. Chapter 10

**To the Count of Twenty**

I absolutely loathe this chapter. Ack. It took me a while to get up, because... well... I hated writing it. ;; It mainly just connects chapter nine to chapter eleven, but bear through it. I promise some more Stan and Kyle in the next chapter (I've been neglecting those two).

And speaking of additional chapters... there is a lot more of this story to come, heh heh. I'm not going to say who wins the bet, but I will say it's close, and... well... Kenny's got a lot of lives to use up. XD

* * *

**chapter ten**

Kyle had left hours ago. In fact, by now, Kyle had probably gone to _bed_ hours ago. But Stan was just staring at his ceiling blankly, saddled with a bad case of insomnia. Or maybe it was the empty churning in his stomach. In any case, he couldn't sleep, and he was annoyed at the fact.

He rolled onto his side, thinking with dread that he would have to talk to Wendy tomorrow. If he put it off, she was sure to get even more pissed at him, but on the other hand, he wasn't eager to try explaining why he'd moaned a boy's name into her mouth while the two were making out. It wasn't that he didn't have a good explanation; his was flawless. It was much more the fact that maybe he _did_ l–

"No," he said firmly out loud before he could even think it. His nose started to sting. "No...." Oh god, what was the matter with him?

Maybe, he tried reasoning with himself, it was just that note that had worked him up. I mean, wasn't it plausible that his jealousy was just a result of the bitterness he felt towards Bebe? It wasn't that he... you know.... It was just that he didn't like the idea of some girl stealing away his best friend. Yeah. It was the fact that she made him act so immature. It made perfect sense.

_You vomited_.

"I was just shocked," he argued with himself, hoping no one was listening. His cheeks were flushed. "He doesn't even like her. He just thinks she's pretty." So why did he care? "It's superficial." So? Kyle was a teenage boy. "He...."

_He's the reason you were blushing in the bathroom_.

"No he wasn't," he moaned into his pillow, his stomach uncomfortably tight. "It was just an awkward situation."

_It turned you on, didn't it?_

"No!" he insisted, revolted. "I like Wendy!"

_Liar_.

"He's my best friend!"

_Fag_.

Stan leapt out of bed. He couldn't take this anymore. He walked quietly downstairs and grabbed some of his mom's blood-pressure medication out of the cabinet. He had school tomorrow. He needed to sleep. He swallowed a few of the bitter white pills and headed back upstairs. He really needed to sleep.

* * *

It was Thursday and lunchtime, and though Wendy hadn't had a class with Butters all day, she was taking twisted pleasure in watching him ("and so obviously" Bebe had commented) every time she did get a glimpse of him. And now that all the classes had filtered into the cafeteria (no one was eating outside as it had been freezing rain all day), it was making her job much easier. She'd put the thought of Stan out of her mind; ever since Bebe had mentioned it, she'd put all her effort into watching Lexi's lie unfold before her.

"You're obsessed," Bebe complained across from her, pointing her fork in her direction. "If I'd known you were going to be such a freak about it, I wouldn't have told you." Wendy stopped staring at Butters to glare at the curly-haired blonde.

"First, I'm not obsessed –" she'd gone back to watching Butters "– secondly, I'm not being a freak; the way he's acting, I'll bet everyone is watching –" no one was "– and thirdly, I can't help it if I'm a little satisfied at the fact that Lexi is so painfully wrong." Bebe rolled her eyes.

"Are you still hung up on her calling Stan gay?"

Wendy whipped around, her eyes slitted dangerously. "Listen, I –"

"Wendy?"

Kyle had approached the girls' table and was looking nervous. Wendy raised her eyebrows at him, shooting a sideways look at Bebe.

"You want something?" Her voice was poisonous; she hadn't forgotten whose name Stan had uttered last night.

"Yeah... can I sit down?" Wendy looked very tempted to say 'no,' but Bebe smiled and patted the seat next to her, offering him to join them. He gave her a grateful little nod before plopping down and eyeing Wendy with that same nervous expression. "I wanted to... uhm... talk to you about Stan." Wendy frowned at him as though he was mad, and shot a glance over him to the boys' table, where Stan was looking miserable and Cartman and Kenny were laughing.

"Why didn't _he_ just come over here?"

Kyle pursed his lips, thinking of the best way to put it. "He wanted to, he just... ah... isn't the best with words... you know?"

"The chances of him puking on you _are_ pretty good," Bebe added thoughtfully, fork in mouth. Wendy rolled her eyes and threw a grape at her.

"So what did you want to say, then?" Wendy asked shortly, obviously annoyed. Kyle was an awful red.

"He just... that whole... _incident_... well, I was on my way over, you know... I know it must have come off wrong, but he just saw me coming through the window." Wendy looked skeptical. "Come on, you ran into me on the way out of his house."

Wendy thought about that for a moment. Bebe tried not to laugh at her expression.

"So... I'm not his 'boyfriend'," he plowed on, going redder. "Stan... doesn't swing that way."

Oddly, Wendy smiled at this. "Oh, I know that," she replied breezily, spearing a tomato with her own fork. "I don't doubt it for a second." She glanced over her shoulder at Butters and slipped a wink to Bebe, who shook her head. Kyle looked floored, and opened his mouth to say something, but decided halfway through against it. He just stood up wordlessly, drifting dreamlike back to his table, utterly baffled at girls. But as Wendy watched him, she noticed that his table was shy two boys. Cartman and Kenny were gone.

* * *

Kenny looked as though he would like nothing more than to kill himself. Or maybe Cartman. That might work.

"– it's just that I heard he's, y'know, funny, and I'm concerned about his –"

"Oh, you are not," Kenny snapped at Cartman, who was speaking very rapidly to a giggling Lexi. "You know he's not gay." He turned to an underdressed Lexi and explained, "He's trying to win a bet and he wants your assistance." She raised an eyebrow and grinned at Cartman.

"You didn't mention a bet last night."

"Yeah, well...."

"So what's the deal?" she asked eagerly, leaning forward over her diet shake lunch. Her over-bright eyes were glittering even in the dim overhead lighting of the cafeteria. Kenny thought for a second that she and Cartman could be related. "What do you want from me, and what's my cut?"

Cartman blinked stupidly, and Kenny snorted. "What's your... cut?"

"Yeah." She took a sip from her drink. "_Surely_ you weren't planning on stealing my assistance?"

Cartman huffed and waved his hands. "Of course not." But the look on his face – as though he'd just been punched in the gut – implied otherwise. Then she was giggling again. Kenny put his head in his hands. God, that laugh was annoying.

"Here's the scenario," Kenny finally decided to explain, because it was obvious Cartman wasn't going to. "Stan Marsh, weak-stomached football player, going out with Wendy Testaburger. You know her." Lexi gave a bitter cough. "Cartman's got a bet going with Kyle that, essentially, he's never gonna get laid. Fifty dollars. And the plan is to viciously break the two up, because somehow I'm sure this is moral as long as money is involved."

"And we heard that you had some speculation on Stan," Cartman added, shooting a glare at Kenny, whom he was considering murdering. "So...."

"Ten percent."

"But –"

"Oh, come on," Lexi pouted. "It's only five dollars. That's hardly enough to buy a decent tube of eyeliner. Besides, knowing Wendy, it's going to take a lot more than a little charm to convince her to leave that Marsh kid." Cartman still looked reluctant. "You're gonna be _out_ fifty if you don't have a girl on your side. Contrary to male opinion, chilli dogs and oral sex will _not_ win a girl over."

Kenny grinned broadly and nudged Cartman, who finally caved.

"... fine."

"Good!" Lexi chirped, finishing off her shake with a devious smile. "Come see me after the bell, sweetie, and we'll see what we can do."

"But if chilli dogs do the trick –"

"Then I'll gladly hand over my eyeliner."

* * *

Butters stepped out of the lunch line nervously, the heavy rain against the windows a cruel parallel to his mood. He'd just spent another algebra class without saying anything to him, but he was going to make amends. He had to thank him, at least. _Yeah_, he thought. _I'll just go over and thank him_._ Nothing suspicious about that_. The tremors in his hands, however, might have been a giveaway.

It only took a few seconds to spot him; he was sitting flush up against a window at the far end of a nearly empty lunch table, blonde hair in his eyes as he scribbled what might have been last minute answers to a homework assignment. Butters made up his mind and set off quickly to the table without giving himself a chance to back out.

The surprise in Pip's eyes as Butters set down his tray across from his was obvious. Butters smiled sheepishly in response to the startled look and asked softly, "D'you mind if I sit here?"

"Oh, no," Pip replied apologetically. "Go right ahead. I'm sorry; I was just a bit surprised." That someone might want to sit with you? Butters forced down an uncomfortable feeling in his stomach.

"Listen... I-I just wanted to uh... thank you. For Tuesday." Pip looked as though the idea of anyone thanking him was completely alien.

"Thank me? Whatever for?" Pip had put down his pencil and tilted his hat upwards to get a better look at the boy he was convinced was playing a practical joke on him.

"W-what for?" Couldn't he remember? "For sticking up for me after... oh, I-I forgot... you got –"

"Knocked out, yes," Pip finished with a strange sort of smile, as though the memory was funny. "Well you're welcome, I suppose, but really, it wasn't your fault." Butters loved the way that sounded.

"Yeah...." He speared a bit of carrot onto his fork to fill up the awkward silence. Pip picked up the pencil again and resumed his rapid writing. Butters grinned at the concentration in his eyes. "What are you working on?"

Pip looked up and flipped the paper around so he could see. "It's a personal narrative for my English class. The rough draft is due today, but I, er... I didn't have time to finish it last night." The blush on his face suggested that he wasn't telling the whole truth, but Butters didn't want to pry. It was enough that he was talking to him at all.

"Could I have a look?"

Pip went a dark pink and lifted his hands off the paper. "Oh, go ahead... it's rubbish though, don't expect much...." He rummaged around in his lunch bag to find something to eat that would keep himself from examining Butters for signs of disapproval. But there was nothing of the sort on his face.

Pip had always been a bit of a mystery to everyone, and Butters knew from firsthand experience that a constantly cheery front is only ever that – a front. So maybe he'd been expecting something out of the ordinary. But how could someone with such a beautiful smile write... this?

_... earth shook, I could feel it in my bones, to the very marrow. An internal rumbling, like the cough of your heart, and it was consuming me. I worried that I might hack out blood, that my blood vessels might burst with pressure, and the way my capillaries were throbbing he didn't doubt it either. The ground was pulsing with insect life, I could feel the pressure of flesh as my fingers dug deeper into soil, expecting any minute to implode. And he watched with amusement. He smiled as tears dripped down my dirt-stained face..._

Butters stopped reading and wrenched his eyes away from the paper. Pip was sipping at an iced tea, glancing over at him calmly, wondering if he was done. Butters' pulse was rapid; how could Pip write so impassively about... about _whatever_ the hell that was? Pip's brows were cocked slightly.

"What do you think?" he asked curiously, still pink but not nearly as pink as he should've been. "Any good?" Butters nodded slowly, shoving the paper back to Pip's side of the table, as though it was contaminated with some sort of disease.

"Y-yeah... y-yeah, it's r-real good...."

"Do you think so?" Pip took hold of the paper and examined it as though it were an essay. When he finally seemed satisfied with it, he shot a smile at Butters. "No one's ever liked my writing before, you know."

"R-really...?"

"Yeah." He'd gone back to writing, and though Butters thought the polite thing to do would be to finish eating instead of staring, he didn't think his stomach could handle it. He'd been sitting behind this boy for months... months of this.... How could he not have noticed? How could he never have said anything? He nervously nibbled at the end of his pizza, begging his stomach to keep it down. "Say... Butters...." He jumped a little. Pip had finished writing. "You know... there's a football game tomorrow...."

"Yeah?" He couldn't see where Pip was going with this.

"Well I've never... never really been to one of the games, you know. Do you think you might like to go with me? You don't have to," he added quickly at the stunned look on Butters face. "But... if you want...."

"No," Butters replied too-suddenly, afraid to miss this opportunity. Was Pip actually asking him out somewhere? Mary, mother of Jesus.... "N-no, no I'd love to go!" Did he sound too eager? In any case, Pip was beaming at him.

"Oh, splendid!" He grabbed his paper and slipped it into his backpack. "I've never had someone to go to... I mean, Amanda never wants to –"

"Amanda?" Butters choked. Pip nodded.

"My girlfriend."

"O-oh."

Fuck.

He opened his mouth to say something more intelligent, but a sharp ringing cut him off. He glanced instinctively to the clock. Twelve.

"Well, there's the bell," Pip commented cheerfully, oblivious to the bitter look on Butters' face. "Here's my phone number." He jotted it down quickly on a spare tissue in his pocket and handed it to Butters. "If we don't see each other tomorrow." He slung his backpack over his shoulder and stood up. "Until Friday!"

Butters just watched him leave, hand clutching numbly to the tissue, wondering how anyone who'd spent their lunchtime writing about burst capillaries could possibly smile like that.

* * *

By the end of the day the rain had slowed to a drizzle, but most of the students pouring out of the school were still holding umbrellas tentatively above them, concentrating too hard on not slipping on the icy ground to worry about getting wet.

Kenny McCormick, however, was far beyond the point of caring.

"You sure you know what you're doing, honey?" Lexi ventured cautiously from the passenger seat of her older sister's car. Her sister, Alex, was muttering profanities under her breath that Cartman – from the backseat – could only assume were directed to her broken-down car.

"Yeah," Kenny replied, shrugging her off. "I spend about half my life fixing my dad's car, I can't imagine this one is too much different." He was busy tinkering under the hood of the car, trying to figure out why it wouldn't start.

"Well hurry up," Cartman whined, annoyed enough that he was having to spend half an hour at Lexi's home without spending another half waiting in her car.

"I'm trying, fatass." His eyes were screwed up in concentration and he was beginning to perspire under his damp hoodie. "I've just gotta –"

"Hey, Kenny!" called a voice from the front of the school. Cartman and Kenny both whipped around to see who it was. In horror, they realized at the same time that it was Kyle. "Come on or you're gonna miss the bus! Stan's already – what are you doing?" His face went blank as he glanced from a grease-stained Kenny to the backseat of the car he was working on. "Cartman?"

"Floor it!" Cartman demanded without thinking, and in a moment of temporary shock, Alex did.

And, because god works in mysterious ways, the car decided that it was due time to start moving again. It gave a violent start and lurched forward.

THUNK.

Lexi gave a horrified scream. "Oh my god!" she cried, pink-nailed hands clutching her heart. "Oh my god!" Kyle, too, was staring in shock at the mess of flesh and bodily fluid on the pavement that was Kenny. Cartman, however, looked out the window and sighed with no more than impatience.

"Well... that's five."

Lexi turned around to stare at him.


	11. Chapter 11

**To the Count of Twenty**

Updates have been coming in slower recently, and I apologize, but since I bought Paint Shop Pro I've been completely addicted to my SP art. (Hehe, obsession?) Don't worry, though, I'm not planning on abandoning this fic. After all, where would my inspiration for fanart come?

And, just a quickie before we get going, I really really want to thank everyone again for their reviews. They really motivate me when I'd rather just take a nap. XD

* * *

**chapter eleven**

Stan was already sitting in his regular seat at the back of the bus when Kyle walked on, looking very sullen over something. He stormed down the aisle and threw his backpack viciously into Stan. Stan gave a muffled yelp as the heavy bag smacked him in the face, to which Kyle replied simply, "Sorry," although his voice didn't sound at all apologetic.

"What happened to _you_?" Stan asked moodily as Kyle slid into the seat next to him and took back his bag, ignoring the bruise rising around his friend's eye.

He grumbled a quiet reply under his breath, scowling heavily at the floor. Stan sighed.

"What did Cartman do?"

_Here it comes_. "He's cheating so _blatantly_ at his _own bet_!" Kyle burst out savagely, causing a few people to glance their way, though their gazes didn't linger long, because outbursts from the boys were hardly rare. "I mean, I could tolerate him getting chummy with Wendy, and I suppose he wouldn't be Cartman if he didn't have Kenny doing his dirty work, but to track down someone like _Lexi_ just to –"

"Whoa, whoa, _whoa_," Stan interrupted as the school bus roared to a start. "What about Wendy?" Kyle let out a frustrated snarl, obviously feeling this was somehow much more his own problem than Stan's.

"Oh, he's got some deluded idea that he's going to seduce Wendy to win the bet."

"Seduce –?" Stan laughed out loud.

"It's not funny!" Kyle snapped, and Stan shut immediately up at the look on his face. Kyle was scary when he was pissed. "Because now that Wendy thinks you're spending your time humping me she may very well rebound on someone like Cartman! They haven't exactly been at each others' throats recently, in case you haven't noticed!"

"Er...." Stan's face was white. "Kyle, maybe you should calm down...."

"Like hell I will! Not when Cartman's over –"

"GOD DAMMIT KYLE BROFLOVSKI SHUT UP!" roared the bus driver – who by now knew all four boys by their full names.

So Kyle did. But not before giving a vicious kick to the seat in front of him, which earned a little scream from the girl sitting in it.

Stan chuckled despite his knowing better. "You've got some serious anger management problems, dude." Kyle rolled his eyes, then resumed staring pointedly at the floor.

"You don't seem very concerned over the fact that your girlfriend thinks you're a fag."

Something in the way he said it made Stan's fists clench involuntarily, and for a moment he seriously contemplated punching Kyle square in the jaw, but he fought to remember that Kyle didn't mean it, that Kyle hadn't been inside his head for the past few days. Kyle didn't know. He didn't mean it. He was angry and needed an outlet. Stan felt like a bad shrink. "What do you want me to do about it?" he replied, trying to minimize the anger in his voice.

Kyle finally decided that it was time to look at him. He turned around, still a bit red in the face, and surveyed Stan with a slight frown. "You _had_ to say my name, didn't you?"

"I didn't do it on purpose!" Stan cried indignantly, wondering if Kyle had forgotten that he was the one who'd approached _him_. Kyle pursed his lips.

"I'm coming over."

"Huh?"

"I'm coming over," he repeated, his voice calming down to speaking tone. "I got you into this, so I figure I should help you out. I'm not going to let Cartman use this against you. And...." He gestured guiltily at Stan's black eye. "We should probably put some ice on that." Stan felt a blush creeping on.

"Oh. Oh, yeah, sure."

"I didn't mean to call you a fag," Kyle added quickly, glancing away again. Stan stared at him in awe.

"Yeah...." He tugged nervously at his hat. "Yeah, I know."

* * *

When the car pulled into the driveway, Lexi was still looking shaken. Cartman had to help her wobble out of the car, which was a bit more than he could stand. She was drained of color and her footing was anything but sturdy. By the time Alex (who, having been the one to actually run over Kenny, seemed to be feeling very little remorse) had disappeared through the front door, Cartman was still trying to coax her out of the front seat.

"I... I didn't...."

"Oh, for Christ's sake!" Cartman roared impatiently. "He dies all the time!"

"His...." As she closed the car door behind her (her weight almost fully supported by Cartman) she pointed shakily to the car's tires, which still had a few remnants of bodily organs stuck in them. Cartman rolled his eyes.

"God, some people have weak stomachs...."

They'd gotten to the door when she finally regained the ability to stand up on her own. Cartman gave a loud sigh of relief when Lexi heaved herself off his shoulders and headed into the kitchen. He heard the open and close of a cabinet door and raised his eyebrows in curiosity.

"What are you getting?" he pouted, hoping to get this over with as quickly as possible. The heavy smell of perfume lingering in the front hall was beginning to make him nauseous.

"Just something for my nerves," she explained, invisible. When he heard the sound of the faucet, he decided he really didn't want to know. It was only a few seconds before she reappeared at the kitchen doorway, still having trouble with balance, but a shaky smile on her lips. "My room's up this way," she said, pointing up her stairs. Cartman gave a shudder.

"Your room?" Body spray and floral bedspreads were a few things he could live without.

"Believe me, you don't want to be sitting in the living room a wall apart from my mom when we're talking." Her smile dropped its fake quality, and she started up the stairway, trying not to cling too obviously to the banister for support.

Intrigued, and happy to hear some of her usual snottiness back in her voice, he shrugged and followed her upstairs.

* * *

"Goddamn it's cold...."

"It is _ice_, genius."

"Hey, you could show some gratitude, I'm busting my ass for you."

"You're scooping ice into a plastic bag."

"Touche."

Kyle wrapped up the makeshift ice pack in a paper towel and stepped over to a grinning Stan who was sitting at his kitchen table. "'Bout time."

"You're welcome," Kyle replied in a sugar-sweet voice, smirking at his friend, who was awkwardly trying to apply to ice to his now darkened eye. Trying not to laugh, he asked, "Your mom isn't going to be home for another hour, is she?"

"No, she's working today." Stan struggled to find some comfortable way to press the bag of freezing cold ice against his face.

"Cool... think you can read with just the one eye?"

Stan stared at him. "Excuse me?"

Kyle beamed, pulling Stan off his chair. "We've been slacking off. Come on, let's go upstairs and try to figure out some way to convince Wendy that you're not a butt pirate." Stan rolled his... eye. "I spent all my detention checking out those books for you." Stan snorted.

"You and Cartman spent your detention in the library... checking out romance novels?"

"_I_ spent my detention checking out romance novels," Kyle corrected him. "Cartman spent his defacing books in the classic literature section." Stan raised an eyebrow.

"And the librarian didn't care?"

Kyle considered the question for a moment, pausing before heading up the Marsh stairway. "I think most of the teachers in the school have sorta given up on us."

Stan laughed and smacked Kyle in the shoulder with his ice pack.

* * *

When Lexi opened up the door to her bedroom, Cartman thought he might die from the combination of the smell and the glitter overkill. She trotted in like there like there was nothing sinisterly wrong about the pink shag carpet or the bright green paper lanterns hanging from the ceiling, and invited Cartman in. When he'd confirmed that he hadn't been blinded by the initial blow, he followed tentatively, fighting the urge to cry.

"Sit." Cartman glanced around the room and saw that he had two options: the bed that Lexi had just hopped onto and was now sitting Indian-style on, or a glittery butterfly chair at her desk that looked like something Michael Jackson might've puked up.

He remained standing.

"So," she mused aloud, already looking better. "The bet's on Stan fucking Wendy, right?"

"Yeah," muttered Cartman, annoyed, because they'd already gone over this.

"You never told me what the conditions are."

Cartman frowned. "Huh?"

Lexi hugged a pillow to her chest, getting comfortable, speaking with the air of one discussing the weather. "What are the conditions? You lose if Stan gets Wendy in bed. So how does Broflovski lose? How long does Stan have?" Cartman shifted uncomfortably.

"Uhm... he's uh... got to the count of twenty."

Lexi raised an eyebrow. "Twenty?"

"Yeah." Cartman suddenly decided he should've just sat in the butterfly chair. "Uh... you know... twenty...." He pursed his lips, trying to think of a way to say it without making it sound completely soulless. But there wasn't one. "Until Kenny dies twenty times."

Lexi let out a loud, raucous laugh."Oh, that's awful, sweetie, just awful...." But she kept laughing. Yeah, whatever she had swallowed was definitely working.

Cartman pushed forward, trying to ignore her red cheeks. "Look, I don't want to hang around too long. You're the one who told Wendy that Stan had it in for Kyle, and obviously you know something or you wouldn't have agreed to help and dragged me over here."

"Maybe I was just horny," she teased, falling backwards and hitting the headboard with a loud thunk. "That Kenny kid was pretty cute."

"Alright, listen –" he growled, obviously agitated now, but Lexi cut him off.

"Okay, okay, calm down, Jesus you're no fun." Her laughter had finally subsided, but her cheeks were still rosy and she had a dumb grin plastered all over her face. "What do you want to know?"

Cartman let out an exhale, grateful that she'd at least shut up. "Why you think Stan's a homo."

At this, Lexi finally seemed to regain some of her composure, and she sat up on her bed, staring intently at Cartman. "That's easy. I know what he and Kyle were doing in the bathroom Friday," she said, that malicious gleam back in her eye. "I was there."

"What the fuck were you doing in the boys' bathroom?" he asked with raised eyebrows.

"I was giving a blow job to Brian O'Connor," she replied unblushingly. Cartman gaped. "But I heard him and Broflovski come in. Heard their conversation, too; Brian and I had shut up by then. We didn't want to get caught."

"So what were they doing?" Cartman asked, his voice squeaking a little with anticipation. Lexi's eyes were ablaze with delight; her grin was toothy and twisted. Probably another side effect of whatever she was on, but Cartman no longer cared.

"Jerking off. Which wouldn't be a crime –" though Cartman's expression certainly seemed to suggest otherwise "– except Brian ran into them on the way out. He was checking for a clear coast," she added, as if this was the part of the story that needed explanation. "When I heard conversation I glanced through the slit in the door. And saw Stan's face."

"_And_?"

Her cheeks looked as if they might split with the strain of grinning. "He might as well have fucked Kyle Friday."

Cartman looked as if he could kiss Lexi.

* * *

Kyle was sitting with a 90 degree error of margin, back on the floor and legs against the bed, trying fruitlessly to flip through the pages with only one hand and scowling at the pages' resistance to defy gravity for him. "Why don't you just try the flower route again? Worked before, didn't it?"

"Nah," Stan replied from the bed, looking through a book of his own, though his seemed to be slightly more pornographic than Kyle's. "According to '_Roar of the Goddess_,' it's fishy when men show up with flowers or jewelry right after a fight. It shows that they're trying to buy your forgiveness. In other words, you should give women gifts at random intervals so that when the fights roll around they're more inclined to forgive you." Kyle snorted.

"Was that in the book?"

"If it was, I'm in trouble."

Kyle grinned, even though from their positions the two boys couldn't see each other. "You've actually been reading these books, huh?"

"Naturally," Stan laughed. "You spent all your detention checking them out for me." He set his book down, stretching out catlike on his bed. "You doubted me?"

"Well, you know, it's just that you'd think if someone spent all their time reading books on how to nurture their relationships they might have figured out that it's a bad idea to cry out someone else's name whilst making out on a couch." Stan gave a loud sigh and peered over the edge of the bed, smirking down at a giggling Kyle.

"First," he began with a superior look on his face, "Though I hate to break it to you, I wasn't exactly envisioning your _gorgeous _face Wednesday. Second, it would show some maturity on your part if you'd just let it go. And _thirdly_, at least I _did_ french her, and I might've gotten farther if _you_ hadn't shown up." That sent Kyle into another fit of giggles, and he pushed himself backwards off the side of the bed so that he could rearrange himself into a sitting position to look at Stan.

"_Please_. I'll bet you were internally thanking me for saving you some embarrassment."

"Well, as I was actually _present_, I'd have to argue otherwise."

"With all your experience, I'll bet you've got the make-out skills of a wet mop."

Stan let out a derisive snort and closed in the distance between his and Kyle's faces, a grin on his face. "Oh yeah?" he teased, a competitive glint in his eyes. "Prepare to be seriously surprised." He'd just leaned in when the two boys were jolted by the slam of Stan's front door. Kyle jerked away, oblivious, a curious look on his face.

"That's probably your mom... shove the books away, I'll go see." He stood up and unlocked his friend's door, heading out into the hallway and into the landing. Stan didn't move. He was frozen completely. "Hey, Mrs. Marsh." Stan dimly registered the conversation going on at the stairwell. "Yeah, me and Stan were just doing some homework. Well, slacking off, but we'll get to it." Stan tried to sit up but found it impossible. "No, I'll be back home by dinner. Thanks, though. See you." When Kyle came back into the room, Stan was still in the exact same position he'd left him in.

"Come on, Stan, we've got to put these books away, your mom thinks we're doing homework."

Stan finally snapped out of it and jerked up, shaking his head. "Oh, yeah... hold on, I've gotta run to the bathroom real quick...." Kyle just shrugged and scooped up a pile of books and Stan dashed out the door.

Oh god... Stan splashed a handful of cold water into his face.

Had he just been about to kiss Kyle?


	12. Chapter 12

**To the Count of Twenty**

Oh my god, I thought I would _never_ finish this chapter.

I am so, _so_ sorry about the horrible wait for this chapter. I've been battling one of my worst writer's blocks, and have been spending way too much time at DA instead of working through it. -- Hopefully, however, the next chapter will be finished much more quickly than this one was. Mainly because, as this chapter features a very little amount of Stan and Kyle (go ahead, kill me XD) the next chapter will be almost entirely them. And "sadistic almost-slash" as I suppose some of you would call it, lol, is what I love to write.

Again, so sorry for the slow update. I'll make it up to you in bottle rockets.

* * *

**chapter twelve**

Friday night had rolled around at last and Cartman and Kenny were raiding the refrigerator for snacks to stuff into their cooler for the game. Neither were big sports buffs, but Stan was their friend and they felt obligated to go the games to watch him sit on the bench. Besides, having him around after the game was great bait for chicks.

"You should call Kyle and see if he wants to come with us," Kenny mumbled beneath his coat, busy stuffing a package of pastrami into the red and white cooler. Cartman shrugged, leaning out of the refrigerator.

"Sure, but don't get your hopes up. He'll probably blow it off to study or something."

Kenny turned around and smiled. "It's Friday, Eric." Cartman gave him a fake little laugh.

"It's Kyle, Kenny."

"Point taken." He turned back to the fridge to sneak some beers in and Cartman crossed the room to the phone. "And throw me the sandwich bread, would you?"

Letting out an annoyed snort as he delicately took the phone off hook, he snapped, "It's on the counter. Get it yourself. I'm _very_ busy." Kenny rolled his eyes, flipping Cartman off the moment he turned to the wall.

Two rings. "Hello?"

"Hey, Jew."

Laugh at the other end of the line. "How's it going, fatass?"

Cartman didn't have the patience to bother getting annoyed at him. "Listen, Kenny and – Kenny was wondering if you wanted to come to the football game with us tonight. We're shoving off in about in hour. You coming with?"

"Nah," Kyle sighed. "You know I don't like football. Besides, I've got an essay due next week and I wanted to get started on it tonight." Cartman turned around to give Kenny an I-told-you-so look.

"Fair enough, but if me and Kenny can make it to the games, you sure as hell can. Think of Stan." It took a good amount of self control to say 'Stan' instead of 'your girlfriend.'

"It's not that big a deal. It's not like _he_ comes to _my_ events," he retorted.

"Yes," Cartman tried to explain, "But that's because _your_ events are _math team_ competitions, and no one gives a flying rat's ass."

CLICK.

Kenny glanced over at Cartman from the counter where he was pulling together some hasty sandwiches for the boys. "So?" Cartman laughed, hanging up the phone.

"I don't think he's coming."

* * *

He was late... it was getting late... oh god, maybe he wasn't coming? Maybe he'd just been messing with him? _No, no, he's not like that_.... Oh god, but he'd said he'd be here thirty-minutes ago, and he'd always seemed like the punctual type... oh god oh god....

_Ding_-_dong_.

Butters almost fell face-first onto the floor as he leapt off the couch and ran to the front door, about to burst with anxiety as he wrenched it open to find a smiling but heavily breathing Pip on his doorstep.

"Hullo," he panted cheerfully, giving him a little wave in greeting. Butters looked behind him to notice a bicycle standing neatly at the edge of his lawn. He guiltily wished he'd offered to pick the British boy up at his house. "Sorry I'm so late, someone gave me some bad directions. I do hope I didn't keep you waiting...."

"O-oh," Butters replied, shaking his head. "No, it's okay. Come on in." He pulled the door open wider and stepped to the side to allow Pip in, who trotted in with a little bow of gratitude.

Pip gave a little "wow" under his breath as the door closed behind him. "You've got a very nice home, Butters." He surveyed a painting on the hallway wall with interest while Butters blushed behind him.

"You think so? I n-never really –" but he stopped short, reminding himself that Pip had grown up in an orphanage and that his modest house _was_ probably impressive in comparison. "Um, thanks." Pip turned back to him and smiled, and Butters felt his brain freeze up a little.

"This is probably very rude of me, but do you think we might have something to eat before we head to the game? I missed dinner, and er...." He couldn't seem to think of anything else to say, but Butters rescued him.

"Oh, sure, I'm actually kinda hungry too." It was a lie; Butters had just had dinner an hour ago, but the prospect of Pip sitting down at his kitchen table with him was quite appealing. "Kitchen's this way."

Pip followed the still blushing blonde into a kitchen cramped with cabinets, extra chairs and bookshelves, all of which were overflowing with cookbooks. The whole room smelt of tomato sauce and fresh bread, and he wondered if he'd ever seen a more inviting kitchen.

"We've got some leftover spaghetti from uh... lunch," Butters went on, pulling out a chair for Pip out of that old-fashioned gentleman mannerism his parents had instilled in him. He stepped over to the cool stove and pulled the lid off the pot of lukewarm pasta. "I-I can heat some up if you'd like." Pip sat himself down at the checkered table and grinned at Butters.

"That would be lovely, thank you." Jesus, why did that voice make him go so stupid?

"S-sure."

While Butters busied himself with the microwave, Pip helped himself to one of the dessert books lying on the table. While he'd certainly never made anything like the elaborate cakes in the book, Pip spent a good deal of his time cooking at home. His foster parents worked most of the day and didn't get back until the late hours of the evening. But even if he only saw them a few hours every day, he was grateful. At least they bought groceries on a regular basis. "Say, Butters...." Butters jumped a little and turned around. "Do you cook much?"

How surreal, Butters thought with a little laugh to himself. Two days ago this kid wouldn't have noticed him in the halls and now he was sitting in his house asking him if he cooked. "Nah. The extent of my skill is pretty much confined to this microwave. Speaking of which...." The microwave was filling the kitchen with a shrill beeping, which Butters ended abruptly when he pulled open the door and lifted a large bowl of steaming spaghetti out and onto the table. "Help yourself," he added, handing Pip a small stoneware plate adorned in flowers. Pip couldn't help laughing.

"Thanks."

"So," started Butters, glancing at the dessert book Pip had been flipping through. "_You_ much of a chef?"

"Hardly," snorted Pip, which seemed unlike the well-mannered Brit. He spooned a large heap of pasta onto his plate and replied, "I do a lot of cooking for myself, but it certainly doesn't mean I'm any good at it. Maybe it's a male thing, hm?"

"Maybe," Butters shrugged, his brain still too locked up to think of an intelligent reply. He wondered stupidly if maybe Pip liked the dumb blonde type.

There were a few minutes of silence while the two boys made their way through the spaghetti, Butters shooting furtive glances at Pip every now and then, and Pip contentedly making his way through the cookbook while he ate.

"You can borrow it if you'd like."

Pip looked up at him with surprise in his eyes and his mouth full of noodles. "Borrow what?" he asked after a full swallow.

"The recipe book." Pip glanced down at the book in his hand and giggled.

"Oh. Er... thank you."

_Smooth, Butters_. Blushing furiously now, he finished his spaghetti with a loud slurp and dropped his fork as quickly as possible onto the plate, as though this would somehow lessen his chance of regurgitating the meal. Pip was quick to follow, though in a more polite manner. He gave Butters an appreciative smile for the dinner, and stood up to take his plate to the sink. "S-so...." Butters cast around furiously for something to say to redeem himself. "What do you want to do now?"

Back still turned, Pip laughed at him for what seemed like the thousandth time this evening. He placed his plate gently into the sink and responded brightly, "Well, I suppose we ought to go to that game, don't you think?"

Butters could have died right then and there.

"O-oh... y-yeah, right. Let's go."

_A lesson in love for prince charming_. _Idiot_.

* * *

"Come on, come on, come on you two, hurry up so we can get seats up front!" Chelsea Iverson bounded out of the backseat of her car with a little too much skip in her step, Wendy and Bebe shooting suppressed smiles at each other behind her back. The three girls had arrived at the high school stadium together, all three of their boyfriends (Bebe having, by now, switched to Tolken) being members of the football team. Wendy and Bebe made it custom to come to the games together, but had never invited along the too-cheerful redhead squealing with mirth outside. However, her secure "affiliation" with the football team kept her close to Lexus Connelly, which was reason enough for Wendy wanting her close at hand tonight.

"Chill out, would you, Chels?" Bebe muttered as she slid out of the car, laughing and shaking her blonde curls out of her face. "You're embarrassing." Chelsea just flipped her off without missing a beat in the obnoxious smile on her face.

"Screw you, Bebe. You coming or what, Wendy?"

"Coming." Bebe lent her a hand to help hoist her up. "Just nervous about the big game, huh?" Bebe smirked at the fake excuse.

"Me too," Chelsea chirped, rubbing her hands together. "Now let's move!" Bebe allowed her to get a few yards ahead of them before leaning in to Wendy.

"So, remind me," Bebe whispered with a nasty smile, "why the hell we brought her along?"

Wendy giggled, smoothing the front of her cardigan haughtily. "Technically, she brought us."

"Technically, you're annoying as hell." The girls shot faces at each other before dissolving back into smiles.

"She's not _that_ unbearable," Wendy mused. "And besides, you know the crowd she runs with." ("_Here we go_," Bebe sighed.) "The game is as good as won, and it'd just be icing on top of the cake for Lexi to saunter by while I've got my hand in the back pocket of Stan's cute little football capris." Bebe hung her head.

"You're hopeless."

"Those capris really are cute, though, you know." Bebe goggled at her.

"I'm sticking with 'you're hopeless.'"

* * *

Cartman and Kenny were at the bottom of the stands fishing around for loose sandwich bits in their cooler to throw at Stan when they noticed the girls climbing the stairs to the bleachers. Cartman squinted. "Hey, it's Iverson," he noted out loud. Kenny did an obvious bend around Cartman to get a better look.

"Meh, she's pretty hot, but I don't know why she's got half the school's population under her thumb. Bebe's knockers are way bigger."

"Speak of the devil," Cartman snorted, pointing to the stairs where Bebe and Wendy had just surfaced, laughing at something apparently very funny. "Nice sweater."

Kenny's laugh was criminal. "_Very_ nice." (He had by now lost all interest in the cooler.) But he frowned as Chelsea slowed down to allow Wendy and Bebe to catch up with her. "Are those three together?"

"Looks like it."

"Wendy hates that chick. What the hell are they doing together?"

"Dunno," Cartman shrugged. "And don't care. Wendy!" he shouted, giving a broad wave in their direction. Wendy stopped laughing and turned abruptly at her name, but when she caught sight of Cartman she grinned and waved back. Kenny wrinkled up his nose and pinched his friend hard on the arm. "Christ!" Cartman coughed, smacking Kenny. "What the fuck was that for?"

"What are you doing?" Kenny asked, frowning. Cartman raised his eyebrows.

"What do you mean, 'what am I doing?'"

"I _mean_, 'what are you doing?'" Kenny repeated, looking annoyed. "This is Stan's turf, dumbass. You can't hit on his girlfriend sitting right at the fucking front of the stands."

Cartman goggled at Kenny. "What are you talking about? I just said hello." Kenny rolled his eyes, suppressing another 'dumbass,' and grabbed Cartman's chin to turn his vision back to the group of girls. Wendy and Bebe were whispering something to a red-faced Chelsea, who seemed to be protesting whatever they were suggesting to her, but after a final pout they started heading decidedly over to where Kenny and Cartman were sitting. Cartman turned back to Kenny, panicked. Kenny just smiled.

"Hey Cartman!" Wendy chirped from behind him, breaking the uncomfortable silence. Cartman whirled violently around to see the pretty fifteen-year-old plunk down beside him, Bebe seating herself next to Wendy and Chelsea beside her, though she put a considerable distance in between them. Kenny contemplated for one second getting up to move beside her, but decided he was more interested in the sandwiches after all.

"Hey," Cartman forced out weakly, giving her a sheepish smile, then gave a meaningful look to Kenny, mouthing, "Help me." Kenny nodded.

"Got it." He leaned out into the aisle and shouted, because Chelsea was about two yards away, "So, Iverson, what the hell are you doing with these two anyway?" The redhead narrowed her eyes at Kenny with every sign of great dislike. Cartman could feel his face burning.

"I'm going to go get us some drinks," Chelsea muttered coldly, then stood up – sending one last evil look at Kenny – and stormed off. Kenny resumed his normal posture, looking proud of himself.

"Uhm... sorry," Cartman apologized, the heat in his cheeks worsening. Wendy couldn't help but smile at the embarrassed look on his face.

"Don't sweat it."

"Yeah," Bebe added, eyeing the cooler. "You saved me the trouble of telling her to fuck off myself." Wendy tried to hide her snort in a fake cough, slapping the blonde playfully on the shoulder. "Mind if I have one of those sandwiches?"

Kenny slid the cooler towards her with his foot. "Help yourself." She bent down and did, handing Wendy one as well. Wendy, however, was staring at her sandwich reluctantly, peeking underneath the top slice of bread.

"What the hell is this?" she asked, pointing.

Cartman leaned over to look. "Provolone cheese."

"This entire left side is _green_," Wendy complained, wrinkling up her nose.

"Well," he explained with a mock look of irritation, "excuse me if I hate to see food go to waste." He snatched the sandwich out of her hands and took a bite, but not before pulling out the slice of bad cheese and tossing it on the ground. When Wendy giggled, he felt a comfortable warmth flood his stomach.

Maybe this wouldn't be so bad.

* * *

"Thank you for the ride, Mrs. Stotch."

"Oh, that's alright, Phillip." Pip blushed at his full name, and Butters groaned. "Now, be good, Butters, honey." Butters nodded.

"Right," he replied, with as little sarcasm as he could manage, following Pip out of the car and wishing he could drive. "Bye, mom." There was one final "_Goodbye, sweetie_!" before the minivan pulled away and the two boys were left at the front of the school, hurrying to the stadium, where the game was already thirty minutes in.

"I'm sorry," Pip apologized between breaths as the boys neared the bleachers. Butters looked at him strangely.

"F-for what?"

Pip looked startled. "For making us miss the first half of the game!" When Butters started to laugh, Pip frowned. "It's my first –"

"I know," Butters interrupted, showing Pip up the stands as though he'd never been to a gym class before. "But football's... uh... well, I doubt they've even _started_ the game to be honest. Punctuality's not really the American pastime." Pip grinned gratefully, glancing over at the field as they cleared the bottommost row of bleachers.

"Looks like they're a _little_ ways in...."

"I'll explain it to you during a time-out," Butters replied with a surge of confidence at Pip's smiling face. When the Brit spotted an empty row near the top of the stands and grabbed Butters' hand to lead him up to it, he felt like he'd won some sort of celestial jackpot. But the feeling was quick-lived.

"Holy fuck... is that _Pip?_" Butters stopped moving immediately and Pip was pulled backwards. He recognized that voice; Kenny McCormick was a hard person to mistake. But where Kenny was... Butters turned towards the voice with a feeling of eminent dread... there was always....

"And Butters!" Eric Cartman's shrill voice filled his stomach with something very like ice. Butters – hating god for having to do it – tore his hand away from Pip's. "Hey Stotch!" Cartman called cruelly up at the boys. "You got a _date_ for the game? She's real pretty; you ought to bring her around more often!" Kenny started cackling, and even Wendy, who he now noticed was sitting beside Cartman, was suffocating giggles. Butters went beet red, but Pip just pushed him forward.

"Ignore them," he whispered sternly, his voice betraying no emotion. "Let's just find a seat."

Cartman gave a pretend pout. "Hey, listen, if you two want your privacy, just say so. I wouldn't expect her to put out in public either."

"_Come on_," Pip urged, trying to unglue Butters from the spot he seemed to be rooted in. But his efforts went in complete vain. Butters was trying very hard just to keep from imploding. How could this be happening? This was the part where he was supposed to come to Pip's rescue, but instead he was being a complete idiot, completely unnerved by that fat fuck Cartman who he'd actually been stupid enough to pal around with in elementary school.

"I-I– "

"Oh, lay off him, Cartman."

Because things _just_ couldn't get any worse.

Lexi and Chelsea appeared at the end of the row separating the two pairs of boys, Lexi with her arms crossed and looking mildly annoyed, and Chelsea without sign that she'd been anywhere near a drink for the past half hour. Cartman shot her a glare (she was supposed to be on _his_ side, after all) but she deflected it easily with her normal haughty smirk. "How are you doing, sweetie?" Lexi chirped up at him, giving him a flimsy wave and whispering something into Chelsea's ear.

When Butters gave a tiny wave back, Pip finally lost the stony front he'd put up for Cartman. "You... _know_ her?" he asked, eyes wide and lip curled slightly.

"Y-yeah... k-kinda...." _Oh please, Jesus, kill me_....

"Me and Chels were just about to find seats," Lexi continued, obviously unaware that she was aggravating an already aggravated situation. "Why don't you come sit with us?" Butters look as though he'd rather shoot himself in the head.

"Hate to burst your bubble, babe, but Butters is with _Pip_, and _Chelsea_ is with _us_."

Wendy has spoken as softly as she could while still audible, looking sinisterly pleased about something.

Lexi looked like she'd just been slapped across the face. "W-what are _you _doing here?"

"Watching my boyfriend play," Wendy replied smugly, not dignifying Lexi with a glance her way. Kenny and Cartman both tensed, as did Bebe and Chelsea at the tones of their friends, but Lexi and Wendy took no notice.

"Watching your boyfriend _sit_," Lexi snarled. Wendy was far too elated to be bothered by the comment, so she shrugged simply and left it at that, watching the two teams squabble on the football field below them contentedly. "Can't find a rebuttal for that one, can you, miss Debate 2000?"

"'ey," Kenny snapped, though the impact was lessened slightly by the fact that his mouth was full of something that might have once been a turkey sandwich. "Reave Stan outta dis, 'ore." Lexi raised her eyebrows, fighting the urge to laugh.

"You _wish_. Not that you could afford me," she sneered, and Cartman returned his head to his hands, wishing he'd ignored the temptation of Butters and Pip and never opened his mouth.

"Come on," Chelsea whined, tossing her red hair behind her and glaring over her nose at Kenny. "Let's blow this popsicle stand."

"Wait!" Kenny swallowed and stood up, brushing crumbs off his jacket in an attempt to look more dignified. "Don't go!" The eyeliner twins stared at him expectantly. "I was having fun staring at your tits."

Even the students chattering around them ceased their conversations to stare.

Lexi looked ready to giggle, but Chelsea's face had gone the color of her hair. "H-how _dare_ you, you little cretin!" She (having nothing of her own to throw) tore Lexi's purse off her shoulder and flung it as hard as she could directly at the still smirking blonde.

There was the unexpected sound of metal on metal, a smothered "oomf!" from Kenny, and then he'd lost footing and slipped below the stands, hitting the ground hard.

Chelsea went white and turned to Lexi nervously. "Wh-what the hell did you have _in_ there?!"

Lexi counted in her head. "Three cans of soda and a bottle of mace."

"Well, look at that," Cartman remarked, with the air of a sports commentary, taking a checklist out of his pocket. "Looks like you killed Kenny." Paler than ever, Chelsea bent over and peered down, but a look of relief washed her face.

"No, no, he's moving! The fall wasn't that far; I think he's okay."

"No," Cartman reassured her, kicking his cooler off the bleacher floor and onto the now quite still body of his orange-hooded friend. "No, you definitely killed Kenny."

Making a low sound of disgust, Lexi whipped around to retrieve Butters and get out of this mad house, but Butters was long gone, as was Pip. The only thing that remained of either was an accented voice in the distance crying, "_But I wanted to watch the game!_"


	13. Chapter 13

**To the Count of Twenty**

Sorry for the wait, I'd actually been blazing quite a trail on this chapter before my week-long hospitalization. XD Stan and Kyle are so much fun for me to write. Something about teenage boys being... well, teenage boys... is so much fun. No one gives their sheer perversion and immaturity enough credit.

And, just a quick note, and I think a few of you may have picked up on this... "Chelsea Iverson"is my dark feeling on fankids personified. (And will probably never appear in this story again because I doubt I have any use for her.) I don't mind most OCs, just the ones that become main characters via falling in love with one of the boys. And have the same name as the author. Wahaha... I wanted one to suffer. Sorry. But for once in his life, I wanted one of the boys to be able to say, "Screw you, bitch!" to one of their author-imposed-future-brides. La la la... am I a horrible person? No, no, of course not.

* * *

**chapter thirteen**

Kyle didn't usually come to his games. That was just a fact. And it had never bothered him. After all, who cared if he had better things to do with his time than watch his friend sit on a bench? But as the stands started to empty out and Cartman and Wendy came rushing towards him with smiles on their faces, he was suddenly painfully aware of the fact that Kyle wasn't with them.

"Stan!" Wendy called, letting that be his time to brace himself for the hug (or tackle, depending on how you looked at it) that followed, nearly knocking him to the ground.

"Hey Wendy," Stan replied breathlessly, feeling guilty for wishing Kyle was there when he had her sitting in the stands every game. "We won."

"You slaughtered them," Cartman corrected. "Or, the team did anyway. But I'm sure your presence inspired them." Stan flipped him off before giving him a grin, trying to peel Wendy off his front so he could talk to his friend.

"Where's Kenny?"

"Dead," Cartman answered casually, pointing to the bottom of his cooler. "But before the unfortunate accident, he did all in his power to cheer you guys on and piss your girlfriend's friends off immensely." Stan smirked and glanced down at Wendy, who nodded in confirmation.

"Chelsea chucked a purse at him."

"Did she?" For his friend having just died, he looked awfully amused. "What did he do? Grab her ass?"

"He might've, once he'd gotten finished 'staring at her tits.'"

Stan laughed as hard as he could make himself, then pulled away from Wendy after a quick kiss. "You know that's the only reason I keep _you_ around, right?" Wendy grinned.

"Speaking of which," she began after the necessary smack on the shoulder. "Do you want to drop by my house? As soon as Bebe gets back from... poking Kenny's body with a stick, for all I know, we're having a little something of an after-game party. Lots of hot girls to fawn over you."

Stan had both expected and dreaded this. It was typical of the two to get together after the games to violate some serious school policy, and while it was normally the only thing that kept him sane while waiting through the game... he wasn't in the mood tonight. As crazy as it seemed to him, staring down at his pretty girlfriend who was literally offering him easy friends to flirt with... he wasn't in the mood for Wendy.

"Can't," he declined, taking both Wendy and Cartman by surprise. "I'm catching a ride home with Cartman."

Cartman raised an eyebrow. "No you a–_ow_." Stan dug his heel into Cartman's toe, making him wince in pain.

"_Yes I am_," he whispered forcibly into Cartman's face. Cartman just nodded, wishing death upon Stan.

"Uh... yeah. Sorry, he is." He gave Wendy an apologetic look for something he shouldn't have to be sorry for.

Wendy looked a little disappointed, but shrugged it off. "That's alright. Bebe will be thrilled, in any case. You're the only other human she knows who will actually eat those potato chips of hers." Her face broke out into another smile, making Stan feel particularly guilty. "I'll see you guys later, alright?"

"Yeah," Stan agreed as she began walking away in search of Bebe. "Bye...." When she'd finally disappeared from sight, he let out a long exhale and turned towards the parking lot.

CRACK.

"Holy _fuck_!" Stan howled in pain, toppling over and nursing the foot Cartman had just jumped onto with all his weight. "You fat piece of shit! I think you broke my fucking foot!"

Cartman just huffed, already walking out of the stadium. "That's what you get for lying to your girlfriend. Now get up. You're riding home with me, now, and my mom will ask questions if I show up carrying you."

Stan cursed him under his breath. And out loud. And all the ride home.

* * *

Thanking Jesus his parents were out, Stan hobbled up the stairs, dropping bits of football equipment wherever he happened to shrug it off. (He was sure his mother would appreciate the shoulder pads lying in the potted palm.) When he stumbled into his room, the only things he had left were his jersey and shoes, and when he kicked those off he feared the worst.

Yeah. Toes covered in blood. Deciding his stomach probably wasn't sure enough to deal with an assortment of splintered toenails, he left his socks on and collapsed onto his bed, reaching for the reason he'd turned Wendy's party down.

Obnoxious ring number one... obnoxious ring number two... obnoxious ring number three.... "Hey there, Stan my man." Obnoxious caller ID.

"Hey, Ike," Stan grumbled. "Can I speak to –"

"Kyle, yeah, hold on." God, that kid thought he was such hot shit. He heard the telephone hit the tiled floor hard (it was a wonder he'd never broken the phone that way) and Ike's distant voice calling for Kyle. It took a surprisingly short time for Kyle to pick up the phone.

"Hello?" His voice was so polite it almost made him angry.

"So," started Stan, a laughing undertone in his voice to make this seem less pathetic than it really was. "I didn't see you at my game." He could hear Kyle laughing softly into the phone.

"Well, that would probably be because I wasn't there." At least he could see where Ike got it from.

"You are so full of it," Stan commented, and Kyle laughed again. It was hard to be angry with him when he kept laughing like that. "Listen, I know it's kinda late, and I'm sure you're doing something _very_ important as usual –"

"Essay for biology," Kyle chirped.

"– but do you want to stop by? Everyone's out of the house and it's boring as hell here. Besides, Cartman crushed my foot, and I may need your help reattaching some of my toes."

From his end, Kyle grinned and twirled the phone cord around his finger. "I'll bring my sewing supplies."

* * *

Butters waved awkwardly as Pip stepped out of the car, pulling out a key to his house from his pocket. "S-see you Monday, then," he stammered. "And sorry about the beginning of the game," he added in an undertone so his mother wouldn't hear him from the front seat. Pip grinned back at him before closing the door.

"No, that's alright." Butters couldn't believe that that face could lie. "I probably wouldn't have lasted long around that girl, anyway." Butters knew he was referring to "that girl" as Lexi, and he chuckled softly.

"She's a bit much."

"I'll say." Pip shut the car door and waved again before heading up to his walkway. "Goodnight!"

Ooh, that made him blush. "B-bye...."

Pip giggled until Butters car had pulled out of his driveway and he could chance a frown. And his scowl became worse every step closer to his home he got. When he had put his front door in between himself and the cold night outside, he finally let out the frustrated sigh he'd been holding in.

_Hypocrite_. Yeah, alright, he was. _Look at the company_ you've_ kept_. But he didn't protest against the voice.

There was a post-it on his refrigerator door reminding him to call Amanda, but he couldn't force himself to care at the moment. He usually couldn't force himself to care about Amanda. She was just someone he talked to when he got especially lonely, someone to lie to in attempt to make himself feel better. And he wondered sadly if that's all Butters would become.

He liked Butters. He was one of the few people who'd ever shown him kindness. He was one of the few people that didn't make fun of his fading British accent or his much too feminine face. And Butters... Pip opened the refrigerator to reach for the dinner his foster parents (long gone to sleep) had wrapped up for him, smiling fondly... Butters liked his writing. Only one other person had ever liked his writing before.

He peeled back the tinfoil covering his plate and let out a sharp laugh that didn't match his voice.

His parents had made spaghetti for dinner.

* * *

Stan was trying to change into a pair of sweatpants without actually making any contact whatsoever with his left foot when he heard the doorbell ringing. Figuring that it was either Kyle or his parents, and that neither would be interested in seeing what sort of underwear he wore, he hiked his football pants back up and hobbled down the stairs as though he was missing his entire left leg.

Kyle, he confirmed, as he opened the door to see the redhead standing on the welcome mat with a backpack over his shoulder, presumably to hold the biology book he'd brought with him.

"Hey," Stan greeted with a smile, which Kyle didn't return. He just stared at him strangely for a minute of awkward silence before finally opening his mouth and pointing.

"You've got a jockstrap around your foot, dude."

God dammit....

Stan tried to kick it off as casually as possible. "Yeah, well I was changing when you got here...."

"With your injured foot?" Kyle finished, flashing gleaming teeth in a merciless grin. Stan reached out and flicked him square between the eyes.

"Don't make me have to hurt you."

"So, where is the offending limb?" Kyle asked unnecessarily, as he'd already noticed the blood-stained sock when he'd been staring at Stan's lovely undergarment. He hopped in the door and shut it behind him, dropping his fifty pound backpack to the floor, giving Stan a scare when he mimed dropping it on his foot.

"Don't _do_ that!" Stan panted, having jumped halfway across the room to avoid Kyle's backpack, the owner of which was back to his grin. "Cartman weighs like, ten-thousand goddamn pounds... it might really be broken!" Kyle rolled his eyes.

"You haven't even _looked_ at it yet," Kyle pointed out, shrugging off his coat and throwing it on top of his backpack. Stan blushed and glanced down at the floor.

"Uh... yeah, well I wasn't really sure I wanted to see the carnage...."

Kyle sighed and rolled his eyes. "Sit."

Stan blinked. "Huh?"

"Sit," Kyle repeated, pointing to Stan's couch. "If you're too much of a chickenshit to do it, I'll do it for you." Stan went even brighter red.

"Uhm...."

"Just sit on the freaking couch!" Kyle snapped, giggling at the startled expression on Stan's face and his sudden swiftness to get to the couch. When he'd made himself comfortable (or as comfortable as he could get under the circumstances) Kyle walked over and plopped down to the floor. "Brace yourself... we may have some loose toes in this sock."

Stan blew a raspberry at Kyle's ill sense of humor. But Kyle just smirked up at him and propped Stan's left foot up on his knees, pulling off his gloves so as not to stain them with the massive amount of blood Stan seemed to be convinced was going to come pouring out. When Kyle's fingers slid underneath the rim of Stan's yellowed sock, the black-haired boy's stomach started up.

Oh for the love of god, it's a sock, a _sock_, his brain cried at his stomach, which was doubled over as Kyle peeled back the (foul smelling, by the expression on his face) article of clothing.

"Oh, Stan, you huge wuss... all he did was hit a toenail when he stepped on you. He didn't even break it; the edge must've dug into your skin with the pressure, but it didn't leave much of a mark... and there's hardly any blood." He ran his thumb along the scratch, making sure it _had_ stopped bleeding.

_Skin skin skin skin skin!_ his stomach hissed back at his brain as Stan gave an involuntary shudder. He wished he could punch them both. "All I'm telling you is it fucking _hurt_."

"Well, it _was_ Cartman," Kyle said cheerfully, amusing himself immensely with Stan's battle scar. "Do you want some antiseptic?"

Stan shook his head, feeling that the worst thing to say would be, _Yes, please, I wouldn't want it to get infected_. "No, that's okay... look, I didn't know it was just a –"

"I'll go get some," Kyle interrupted, obviously not listening to a word Stan was saying. Stan fumed silently as Kyle ventured off into the bathroom, wishing he'd never said anything about it in the first place. After all, it certainly wasn't hurting anymore. And he felt so stupid, sitting here and waiting for Kyle like a little kid with a scraped knee. And an awkward thumping in his chest that he really wished would go away. "Bactine or Gold Bond?" Kyle called from the bathroom.

Stan didn't answer, hoping Kyle would get his mental message to fuck himself.

When Kyle returned, he was carrying a tube of Gold Bond and smelled like Victoria's Secret. Stan stared up at him and Kyle grinned innocently. "Your sister had a bottle of the stuff sitting on the sink and I wondered what the appeal was. Are you seduced?"

"Sorry," Stan replied, brining his foot protectively closer to the couch to keep it out of Kyle's reach. "And I told you that I didn't want any – Kyle, come _on_," he begged as Kyle grabbed him and squeezed the tube menacingly. "I hate that stuff – Kyle, seriously...." But Kyle was having too much fun. He pinned Stan's foot underneath one of his arms so that his hands were free to unscrew the cap as slowly as possible, savoring the annoyed (and somewhat fearful) look on Stan's face. "You're being so immature –"

"Oh shut up," Kyle laughed, squirting half the tube onto Stan's foot and leaning back to admire his work. "There! All better!"

Stan glared before kicking Kyle in the face and using his cheek to wipe off the gallon of gel dripping from his toes. When Kyle made a low noise of disgust at the antiseptic on his face, Stan commented dryly, "I think it's a good look for you."

"Oh?" His brain obviously vacationing somewhere in his backpack with his books, Kyle smeared the Gold Bond all over his face. "Seduced now?"

Stan stared, finding it very hard at the moment to believe that Kyle was a fifteen year old straight-A math team student.

"Incredibly."

* * *

It was when Stan's parents came home that he and Kyle had to retire from their post on the sofa watching stoner movies from the seventies on cable tv. Kyle had pretended to work on his biology essay throughout the veg session, of course, but he was laughing a little too much for Stan to believe that he was just picking up occasional one-liners. And when the door opened and Kyle moaned "Aww, man, that chick was about to take off her shirt" ... well, that was proof enough for him.

They retreated up into Stan's room, Kyle pouting the entire time, and Stan trying not to laugh too hard at him. Stan had just shut the door behind him when he realized after a quick glance to the base of his bed (which Kyle had just collapsed onto) that he was still wearing his football capris, and that the baggy sweatpants on the floor looked much more comfortable.

"Hey, Kyle," he started with a tone that made the redhead aware he wanted something. "Would you mind giving me a minute alone? I wanna change." Kyle gave him a funny look.

"And I have to leave the room for this?" Stan glanced down to the floor, smiling embarrassedly.

"Do you _want_ to get a glance at my underwear?"

Kyle laughed, shoving him playfully. "Please. It's not like I haven't seen those gay tidy whities you wear before. I promise not to get too horny on you." Stan blushed.

"Look, I just don't want –"

"Fine, fine," Kyle huffed, shoving himself off the bed and muttering something about Cartman and his pussy friend.

But he was right, Stan thought, pulling off his pants self-consciously. They'd shared locker rooms before; whenever their gym periods were the same, they'd choose adjacent lockers. They'd... Stan went beet red, losing a bit of balance... _showered_ together.

And suddenly, that was all he could think about. His grip on his sweatpants became weak as he tried to shake the mental image of Kyle out of his head, suddenly wishing he hadn't invited him over tonight. Oh god, oh god, oh god –

"How long does it take you to put on a fucking pair of pants?" Kyle groaned outside the door. Stan fumbled over his drawstrings at the annoyed voice.

"Uhm... almost done...." Perfect timing for a voice quake. _Perfect_.

"Whatever, Stan, I don't want to listen to your parents make out in their drunken afterglow downstairs; I'm coming in." And he did. Stan had finished knotting his drawstrings, but his face was still burning, and when his head snapped at the sound of the door opening and he caught sight of the boy who was already plastered to his eyelids...

..._it_ hit him.

"Gottagobathroom," he blurted out, surprising Kyle as he rushed past him and slammed two doors in a row – the first to his room, and the second the the bathroom, where he proceeded to twist on the cold water faucet and struggle with the double knot he'd just finished tying.

He wasn't a fag; _why_ was this happening to him?

* * *

When Stan returned fifteen minutes later, thoroughly embarrassed but considerably less red, Kyle was sitting on his bed examining Stan's football pants. "What are you doing?" Stan asked, bemused, Kyle jumping at the sudden sound of his voice. But when he realized it was only his spastic friend, he smiled and tugged at the pants fabric.

"Just wondering if you'd snuck acid in here, and, you know, it had maybe melted through your skin or something. In case you haven't noticed, you've been acting kinda weird." Stan glared, while Kyle continued rummaging through the nonexistent pockets. Realizing that Kyle was being about as immature as he was being strange, he flipped off the light switch and shut the door, stomping over to his bed and crawling under the sheets, kicking Kyle up in the process.

Kyle gave a little sputter before dropping the capris onto the floor and stumbling in the dark. "What are _you_ doing?"

"Going to sleep," Stan muttered. Kyle blinked invisibly.

"But... it's like, _ten_, dude."

"I'm tired."

Kyle just raised his eyebrows and glanced at the ground, wondering whether this was his cue to retire or not. "Uhm... alright... I just, uh... I'll go get some sheets or something." But Stan wasn't listening. His thoughts (bitter) had returned to their sanctuary beneath his bed; the little note of Kyle's that had been driving him crazy for a week.

Kyle had just reached for the doorknob when Stan voiced a few of his thoughts aloud. "Would you... um... go out with her?" Kyle whipped around, clueless as to what Stan was talking about now. "I mean, I've been with Wendy so long that I don't... know, you know... what do you want in a girlfriend?"

Kyle stared blankly at him for a good minute, until his vision had readjusted and he could make out the lump of blankets that was his definitely weird best friend. "Dude... did someone, like... _castrate_ you?"

"_No_," Stan pouted, blushing in the dark. "I just... never mind." He turned over on his side, frowning. "Good night."

Kyle let out a long exhale and pulled a "you're insane" face before twisting open the door and walking out onto the landing to search for a sleeping bag, or something equally suitable, like a handgun. Stan curled up tighter beneath his sheets. And his question from earlier resounded in his head : _why_?

_Because_, he confessed to himself, tossing uncomfortably. _Because_... _immature_... _or not_....

.... _I like him_.


	14. Chapter 14

**To the Count of Twenty**

Yeah, I've been a bad girl again. I'm just so awful with updates... forgive me! I've been busy with DA and with my Graydon Manor admittance... but I am still slacking. One of my New Year's resolutions is to get better at that. NO PROCRASTINATION IN 2005! (Or, you know, not as much.)

And there's a joke at the end of this that you just won't get unless you've seen "Taco Flavored Kisses" but... hahahaha. I just couldn't help myself.

* * *

**chapter fourteen**

Mrs. Cartman didn't say a word when her son dragged the bloodstained cooler up to his room. She was far too used to this sort of thing after all her years in South Park; when she'd come across one of Eric's friends lying dead in the bathroom at his last sleep over, she'd just closed the door and went to the upstairs one instead.

It was now eleven o'clock, as the blinking clock on Cartman's night stand informed him, and he was getting tired. But he couldn't fall asleep, not yet. Because any minute now it would happen, and if he missed it he would regret it later.

He rolled over away from the alarm clock so he could face the cooler on the floor opposite his bed stand. The lights were off to appease his mother, but his eyes had long adjusted to the dark, and the blood was nearly black now anyway. Kenny was a good sport, Cartman thought fondly, trying to keep his eyes open. He never complained when he came back, even though it was Cartman's fault more than half the time. Cartman felt a bit guilty, though – which was an emotion that didn't come often to him – about the fact that Kenny was still oblivious about the conditions of the bet. Stupid, happy-go-lucky Kenny, who was willing to help Cartman win a bet that was centered around the amount of times his skull could get crushed in before Stan finally screwed Wendy.

But though Cartman would never say so aloud – unless it involved money or material goods and was in his favor – he cared about Kenny. He was his best friend, whether he liked it or not. And he wouldn't let Kenny become a tool like he had so many times in the past. Cartman would pull his own weight in this.

_Bad pun_, he thought with a smile, as his stomach gave a loud rumble. It had been a good four hours since he'd had anything to eat. Hey, what the hell; it was a feat for him. And at least he wasn't purging.

His eyes were beginning to take shorter breaks in between blinks when he saw it beginning. He snapped immediately alert and leaned over the side of the bed to get a better look. It still amazed him, even after all these years.

It was like watching a very sped-up video of water evaporating, except that the "water" was blood, and instead of fogging the air, it vaporized into nothingness... or at least what appeared to be nothingness. Thick droplets of burnt red slid to the side of the cooler and gave a great quiver before vanishing into the air to make the long return home. And just before the last few drops had faded away, they turned a brilliant, bright red, the color of fresh blood. The blood of someone who hadn't died hours ago. The blood of someone quite alive.

When every trace of blood was gone from the cooler, Cartman grinned and rolled onto his back, closing his eyes and patting his stomach contentedly.

Kenny was back.

* * *

Chelsea had ditched the after game party in favor of hanging out with Lexi, probably in a dirty bathroom stall somewhere, which was fine by Wendy, who loathed Lexi, and Bebe, who loathed Wendy for ever inviting Chelsea along to the game in the first place.

"God _damn_ it's good to have these all to myself," Bebe was moaning as she popped a potato chip into her mouth. "It's _orgasmic_."

Wendy raised her eyebrows. "They're chips, Bebe."

"They're _orgasmic_."

Wendy was grateful that the noise in the basement was loud enough that no one could hear Bebe; otherwise, she would've had to kick her instead of laughing along. "I _told_ Stan that you'd love the fact he wasn't here." Bebe frowned.

"I adore Stan, you know that."

"I meant the fact that he wasn't here eating your chips."

Bebe grinned. "Oh, yeah. That kid does have quite a healthy appetite." Her last sentence seemed to trigger a thought, though, because she gave a sudden start and coughed out a soggy piece of her most recent potato chip. Wendy scrunched up her nose in disgust.

"What?"

"I just – remembered something," she forced out, massaging her throat and giving a few dry coughs. "Kinda. Uhm...." She struggled for a way to make this as least awkward as possible. "What were you and Stan talking about at the end of the game?"

Wendy raised an eyebrow, but responded casually as something glass broke behind them, "Nothing, really. I'd only invited him over here, when he had to leave with Cartman."

"No, he didn't."

Wendy frowned. "Pardon?" Bebe put her tongue between her teeth, thinking.

"Well... I was looking for you, you know, after the game –" (Wendy noted that she _still_ hadn't mentioned what she'd been off _doing_) "– and I caught sight of Stan and Cartman. And I was gonna say 'hi' before Cartman jumped on him – your boyfriend is a real wuss, by the way, screamed like a girl –"

"What's your point?" Wendy huffed.

"He was yelling something about 'lying to his girlfriend' or something. So uhm... well, yeah, thought you should know." She glanced awkwardly at Wendy, expecting her to be furious (it wasn't uncommon for her) over the fact that Stan had stood her up again, but all she looked was slightly fazed and a little red in the cheeks.

"Cartman did... what now?" she asked, lifting her eyes from the floor. Bebe blinked.

"Uh... stepped on him, I guess? Stan fell over, 's all I know."

"Right." And she returned to her gaze to the floor. About thirty seconds of uncomfortable silence passed before Bebe couldn't stand it anymore.

"Wendy?"

"Yeah?" Wendy responded, shaking her head to snap herself out of her daze.

"Well, I...." Bebe pulled a face that might have been funny in another situation. "I thought you'd be angry.

And maybe Wendy would've been... but she was currently much too busy blushing. And she wasn't entirely sure why.

* * *

The weekend passed fairly uneventfully; Kyle left Stan's house early Saturday morning, and the two spent the remainder of their weekend at their respective homes... Kyle doing homework, and Stan washing every pair of socks he owned twice. And Cartman – for all his excitement over Kenny's revival – hadn't called him once. In fact, it wasn't until lunch on Monday that the four boys were all together again. (Unless you were to count the frozen half-sleep/half-coma they spent at the bus stop quality bonding time.)

Kenny was the last of the four out of the lunch line. Not surprising; Cartman was always first, Kyle's mom still made his lunch nearly every morning, and Stan – attached at the hip to Kyle – figured long ago that there was usually enough extra food in Kyle's bag to get by on. When he walked outside and found his friends' table, he noticed that Cartman was looking giddy and in need of a toilet, Stan was staring awkwardly at the table, fiddling with the buttons on his jacket, and Kyle was commenting loudly that kosher gummy bears were just as good as the originals.

Kenny plopped down casually next to Kyle and waved.

"Hey Kenny," Cartman greeted, his words oddly strained. Kenny gave him a weird look.

"Do you have to pee?" he asked. Cartman's bright face darkened considerably.

"_No_," Cartman responded, Stan laughing softly from his seat next to him. "I don't have to go to the _bathroom_." He put a heavy stress on 'bathroom' and winked as he did so. Worried slightly for his friend's sanity, Kenny just shrugged, much to Cartman's dismay.

He pulled back his hood to chew on a pretzel from his nearly empty lunch tray and asked, in attempt to start a more normal conversation with a more normal person, "How'd the game go, Stan?"

Stan looked up from the table and pulled a face. "We won, and don't talk with your mouth full. It's unattractive; makes you look like Cartman." He shot a quick grin at Cartman, whose lip curled.

"Oh, _ha ha ha_. Save it for the cheap seats, gaywad." And while Stan just rolled his eyes, Cartman gave another meaningful look to Kenny, who was starting to get freaked out.

"Seriously, Cartman, you okay?"

"Of course not," Kyle chirped, jumping on the abuse wagon, a playful glint in his eye. "Look at that face; would _you_ be okay if you had a mug like that?"

Cartman snarled and stood up abruptly, upsetting his milk carton. "Alright, I have officially had enough. Come on, Kenny."

"Wait!" Stan started, looking horrified at the prospect of being left alone with Kyle. "Where are you going?" Cartman hesitated for only a moment before replying : "the bathroom."

"But you just said you didn't have to –"

"Would you _shut up_, Kenny?!" And the two of them disappeared around the corner of the school building.

At the table, a heavy silence had settled between the two remaining boys. Stan tucked his needs-trimming bangs behind his ear and dug his heel nervously into the ice caked ground.

"So uh... you say kosher gummy bears are just as good as the originals?"

* * *

Kenny jerked his wrists out of Cartman's hands, pulling his hood over his head with a dignity-at-all-times expression on his face. The two were standing in a half open bathroom stall, Kenny looking highly annoyed. "Care to explain?" he asked loftily.

Cartman grinned, looking on the verge of exploding. "Alright, well... dammit, you kept dying, and I never got to tell you... oh, god it's good.... Remember Thursday? With Connelly?"

Kenny thought for a moment. "Oh... yeah. Thursday." It wasn't a fond memory.

"Well, you'd... uh... but anyway, when I got to her house, she told me. Well, you know how there was that rumor about Stan and Kyle flying around? And she's... you know, I mean, Wendy talks about her." Kenny wasn't entirely sure whether or not Cartman was even speaking in English. "But it's _true_, it's actually _true_."

"_What's_ true?" Kenny asked, wishing he was back at the table with Stan and Kyle. At least they had food worth stealing.

"That –" But Cartman quickly silenced himself, making sure to close the door first. _As if that would make any difference_, Kenny thought, bored. "That _Stan's got the hots for Kyle_."

Kenny blinked, silent for a moment, before he snorted and waved his hand through the air. "Please. There's no way that's true."

"It is!" Cartman hissed, trying to keep his voice at a whisper but failing. "She was with them Friday!" Kenny raised an eyebrow and Cartman sighed. "Well, okay, not _with_ them, but she was here."

"In the boys' bathroom?" Kenny laughed.

"In the boys' bathroom." Which shut Kenny up. "She was giving head to Brian... someone, I can't remember his name. It's not important. The point is, she was here, and so were they."

Kenny decided it was time to speak again. "What were they doing together in the bathroom?" he wondered aloud, suspecting drugs, but not Cartman's answer.

"Masturbating. And they –"

"Oh, _sick!_" Kenny cut him off, jumping up from the wall he was leaning against. "Holy shit, dude, what if one of them did it in here? Oh god, that's so fucking gross! And they're so fucking _straight laced_ –"

"Kenny!" Cartman barked, and Kenny fell silent, though he still looked incredibly ill. "You are missing what I have to say." Kenny just shuddered in response, so Cartman continued. "She saw them afterwards. Saw Stan's face."

"And?" Kenny asked hesitantly, no longer sure he wanted to know what Cartman wanted to tell him.

"And, while he may have been beating off to chicks, his afterglow was all Kyle. Apparently he couldn't stop staring at him, and his expression...." Cartman couldn't stop grinning. _Kenny's_ expression was currently the midpoint between disbelief and disgust.

"I... I dunno, Eric. I mean...." He was making absolutely sure not to touch anything in the stall. "Stan's always been... you know, the straight one."

"What the fuck do you mean, the _straight one?_" Cartman roared, forgetting to keep his voice down.

Kenny gave him a 'you know what I mean' look. "You know, the one who doesn't give _blow jobs_ to men, or _hand jobs_ to men, or _sleeps with completely naked_ men just to pull one over on Kyle." Cartman was beet red, and tried to pretend that Kenny hadn't just said any of that.

"Whatever, Kenny. Stan's got the hots for Kyle, and you're just in denial. But go back outside and you'll see what I mean. The awkward looks, the constant blushing... there's no way in hell he's straight! God dammit Kenny, we are gonna _win_ _this bet!_"

Kenny looked completely nonplused. "We... we are standing in what is potentially a semen coated toilet stall, and you are thinking 'I'm going to win my bet with Kyle?'" Cartman shook his head condescendingly.

"Oh, Kenny... so little faith you have in me." He looked up and gave his friend a twisted smile. "We're standing in what is potentially a semen coated toilet stall, and I am _knowing_ I'm going to win my bet with Kyle!"

Kenny stared at him with utter disbelief in his eyes before grabbing Cartman's hat off his head to use as a glove with which to open the door, and walked out of the bathroom.

* * *

When Butters arrived at the lonely little table at the back of the cafeteria, Pip was writing again. Butters chuckled and set his lunch tray down with a gentle _thump_, causing Pip to look up and smile at his first friend in ages. "Hello."

"Hi," Butters returned, pulling out a chair. "Another English assignment?"

Pip glanced down at the paper on the table, wondering if it would really be such a sin to tell a little white lie. "Yeah. I've been so awful at keeping up with my work." Wouldn't anyone be behind with their work if they spent all their time writing instead? Pip hoped Butters would like this one. "Would you like to see?"

Butters gave a wide grin at the offer, glad that Pip was eager to share his work. Butters wasn't. "S-sure!" But he should've known when he took the paper from Pip.

_You can run but you can't hide_

_From my pestilent suicide_

_It's not enough to watch the world float slowly by_

_You're everything I need_

_The reason I scratch and peel and bleed_

_You're my ecstacy_

_Like a drug; you inspire me_

Butters stopped reading there and put the 'assignment' back on the table, smiling softly, a hint of sadness marring it. "Pip..." And the blonde looked up anxiously, hoping for praise. "...why do you write things like this?"

Well, that wasn't what he'd been expecting. "What do you mean?" he asked with a little laugh, his cheery face so obviously fake.

"I mean...." Butters put a hand behind his head, trying to think of the words to say it. "It's just that... y-you're so talented, why...?" He cast another glance at the paper. _My pestilent suicide_. "How can you write such dark things when _you're_... s-so...."

"Happy?" Pip finished for him, chin in his hands, his sad smile mirroring Butters' own. Butters' eyes went wide.

"A-aren't you?"

Pip nodded and pulled his paper back towards him. "Yes, I am." His eyes were roaming the lines of his poetry. "But that doesn't mean there aren't sad thoughts or memories... I mean, this isn't all I write," he explained, his expression suddenly businesslike. "It's just...." He laughed, rolling his eyes at himself. "I don't know, maybe you wouldn't understand."

But Butters shook his head, because he understood perfectly. "No, I do." He glanced around to make sure no one was listening in on them. (Who would be?) "I... I draw," he whispered, as if this was some shameful secret.

"Oh, do you?" Pip asked, clapping his hands together, his face back to normal and bearing no sign that a moment ago it had actually frowned. "I didn't know! I suppose it would be trite to ask you to draw something for me, wouldn't it?" And though Butters wanted to explain to him how he understood that a happy-go-lucky front could harbor secrets on the contrary, he was reluctant to wipe that grin off Pip's face. He never wanted to see him sad again.

"Uhm... y-yeah, sure, I could draw you something." God, that smile was worth it.

He took the pencil Pip was (ecstatically) offering him, and flipped over the poem he'd been working on – obviously forgetting that this was supposed to be a school assignment. He wasn't entirely sure what to draw, but he figured he'd be safe with a small woodland creature. _Or a British boy consummating his love for his artistic and incredibly well built life partner?_

... no. A small woodland creature would suffice.

"Say, Pip," Butters started curiously, making his initial outline. "Is there someone those –"

BAM.

Both blondes gave sudden starts and whirled around to the door to the courtyard at the end of the windows. Kyle Broflovski was standing in the doorframe, the cold winter air filtering in behind him. His calm expression, though, was less than deserving of the dramatic entrance.

A few students complained loudly about the cold before Kyle shut the door behind him and started across the cafeteria. But it was the beginning of the lunch period.... Butters couldn't help himself; curiosity got the better of him.

"Hey, Kyle!" he called out across the room. Kyle whipped around and waved, though slightly surprised at the fact that it was Butters. The two almost never talked anymore. "Where are you going?"

"Office," Kyle answered shortly, then figured he was in no rush and could spare a minute to explain to Butters. He walked over towards Butters and Pip (god, they were nerds) before breaking into it. "Cartman and Kenny got into a fight. Go figure. Thought I'd go report it to the principal so she could get the janitorial staff on the cleanup job."

"Cleanup job?" Butters asked. Kyle nodded.

"Yeah. There's blood everywhere."

Butters face went pale and his eyes wide with shock. Pip just looked down at the ground, trying to stay out of the conversation. "W-what happened?"

Kyle shrugged – rather nonchalantly, Butters thought. "Kenny said something about Ben Affleck and...." Kyle sighed. "Poor Kenny. Cartman jumped on him," he said, taking off his hat and assuming an overly-theatric grieving stance. "Poor thing... like being crushed by a particularly fat elephant."

Pip surprised both Kyle and Butters when he started to giggle.


	15. Chapter 15

**To the Count of Twenty**

Oh my god, guys, I'm so sorry I left without properly explaining myself... I read some of my reviews and realized that it probably wasn't one of my smarter moves...

I've been at Graydon Manor residential hospital for about four months now. That's why I haven't been updating this story, not because I've been neglecting it. I don't get to come home very often, and rarely get the chance to hop on the computer. However, I wanted to get this up as soon as possible. I'm so sorry about the unexplained absence... I'll try to be better next time!

Again, so, soooo sorry. I have really missed ffNET, and I see that the section is really booming! I hope I can read everyone's newest sometime in the near future! Hope you guys are all doing well, and I hope you enjoy the (kinda sort) chapter.

* * *

**chapter fifteen**

Okay... so maybe he shouldn't have laughed. He sat himself down in his usual seat at the back of the English classroom, thinking that he definitely shouldn't have laughed. He was usually better with social appropriateness than that. It was a kid _dying_, for Christ's sake. Not that Kenny didn't come back every time, but... he shouldn't have laughed. He shouldn't have exposed the fact that the idea of death had become utterly insignificant to him since ––

"Hey," came a cracking voice above Pip, causing him to turn abruptly and look up. Of course, he'd known immediately who the voice belonged to; it was Tweek, who was claiming _his_ usual seat next to Pip. Teachers tended to sit the two at the back because it kept class disruption down. Pip was a target for spit balls and Tweek was a target for plastic bags left over from lunch filled with chalk dust. The guy was a complete junkie but hardly minded sitting next to straight-laced Phillip Pirrup. He didn't have any friends save for the kids he shared needles with, and at least Pip talked back to him.

"Hello," Pip replied cheerfully, wishing Tweek would have the sense to wear long sleeves. The bruises on his arms were horrible. "Did you get your reading done?"

"Nah," Tweek said in that broken voice of his, throwing his backpack to the floor. "What about you?"

Pip smiled and responded quietly, "You know I never get my assignments done."

"I don't get you..." Tweek raised an eyebrow and settled his head on an unsteady hand. "You don't do anything wrong. You're totally clean. If you're not spending your time doing homework, then what the hell _are_ you spending it on?"

"Well, there's tea time," Pip replied playfully, grinning.

"Oh." And Tweek went rummaging through his backpack for _Of Mice and Men_, of which they were supposed to have read pages 17-65 of. Pip rolled his eyes and sighed. Why did he even bother?

Tweek was an alright guy. A little off, granted, but an alright guy. And usually... which was the reason he tolerated the disfiguring bruises and welts and the way he called him "Pippin" when he wanted something... he didn't ask why Pip was incapable of finishing assignments.

He supposed he didn't have a good excuse. He had a cozy home and parents who loved him, even if they couldn't be around most of the time. He had nothing to complain about as far as home life went. So why, then, was his distraction there so extreme that he couldn't even finish two chapters worth of homework when he had the entire weekend to do so?

He wished he could be more like Butters... an artist. Rid himself of that clamp over his breathing with a painting and be done with it. Two hours out of his life, maybe. But he spent days instead in frustration filling looseleaf pages with empty words that never satisfied him. And sometimes at the end of the day he wished he could be more like Tweek... so light he could go wherever the wind decided to blow without even lifting his feet.

"Oy, Pippin." Pip let out a loud exhale before turning to Tweek with a what-do-you-want-now? expression on his face. "Who the hell is Lenny?"

Pip couldn't help the laugh that ripped from him. "Jesus, Tweek... _I've_ gotten _that_ far."

* * *

Stan stood by his locker after the last bell signaled the end of the day, momentarily wondering if he could squeeze into it and possibly spend the night there. He'd been so awkward around Kyle, and it hardly helped that Cartman was being as ruthless as ever; he'd been having an absolute field day at Stan's expense. It was bad enough having to put up with his teasing in between classes, but tomorrow he had Spanish with both Cartman _and_ Kyle, and he wasn't sure he could survive it. In actuality, Stan knew that there was no way Cartman could know about his... well... but ever since he'd admitted it to himself his paranoia over the subject had skyrocketed.

"Hey Stan!"

Cue nervous spaz and dropping of largest book in locker onto foot. Stan winced, hating god. "Hi... Kyle..."

Kyle let out a low whistle and bent down to pick up the dropped textbook. "Not a good day to be that foot, huh? And isn't that the one Cartman–"

"Yeah," Stan forced out through gritted teeth. "Yeah, it is."

"Tough luck." Stan found the grin on Kyle's face as he handed him the textbook back both obnoxious and endearing, so he compromised by frowning and having another spaz. "You almost ready? I already saw Cartman leave, and quite frankly, I'm tempted to join him as this backpack is about to break my spine."

"You don't _have_ to have a binder for every subject, you know," Stan protested, shoving books into his own backpack.

"No; _you_ don't. _I_ do. Honor student, remember?" When Kyle shot him that same annoying grin again, Stan wished he could beat his nerdy ass into the ground. _Or into the wall_, added a voice in his head that sounded surprisingly like Cartman. He glanced longingly into his locker a second time.

"Yeah, yeah... I'm almost ready, don't get your panties in a twist." He stuffed a final notebook in his bag before struggling to zip it closed; he was clueless as to how Kyle managed to fit all those extra binders into his bag, much less tote them around all day. That boy was going to die of scoliosis. "Right," he huffed, slinging his backpack over his shoulder. "Let's go." And Kyle had to smack him on the back in response.

Why? _Why_ would he be so stupid as to touch him?

Because normal human beings probably didn't trip and fall flat on their faces when their best friends patted them.

"...ouch."

* * *

The hours without Kenny sucked, Cartman thought sullenly, sitting in one of the escape door seats in the middle of the bus because the seniors had kicked him out of the back. They tended to let him be when he was with Kenny; they were less prone to mess with a kid they themselves had seen die at the hand of their incompetent bus driver and arrive to tell the tale the next morning.

And could Stan and Kyle hurry it up? Their presence wasn't exactly the light of his life, but it beat sitting alone with an inner monologue swirling around in his brain. Besides, he'd recently adopted the hobby of watching Stan make a complete ass out of himself in front of Kyle. Seeing him choke every time Kyle said his name was amusing.

When the two finally climbed onto the bus, Cartman's black heart gave a little jump. "Hey! You guys!" Kyle turned at his unnaturally cheery voice and gave a little groan.

"Dammit, Cartman..." Kyle huffed as he lugged his hiking grade backpack to the middle of the bus. Cartman's eyes narrowed.

"Don't blame _me_, Jew! They would've kicked _your_ ass out of the back, too."

Kyle just rolled his eyes in response. "Well, move over."

Cartman raised an eyebrow. "What do you mean?"

"I mean, '_move over_,' fatass!" Kyle growled. "I need somewhere to sit."

Awkward moment. "Why," Cartman started, putting back on a snarling face to hide his utter astonishment. "Why the hell don't you just share a seat with Stan like you always do?"

"_Because_, you mentally impaired sack of lard," Kyle snapped with excessive cruelty, not particularly angry but just used to the constant fights with Cartman, "Wendy's riding home with Stan, and _I'd_ rather not ride home under her ass."

Cartman felt the malice drip out of his face and into his stomach, which seemed to be trying to break free from his rib cage. "W-Wendy?" It wasn't the thought of Wendy that made his stomach convulse – after all, he shared a couple classes and a lunch period with her. It was the idea of Wendy, sitting next to Stan, fingers laced, leaning in for the occasional round of tonsil hockey. God dammit...

"Yes, 'W-Wendy,'" Kyle answered, pushing Cartman to the window with an almighty heave. He situated himself as far away from Cartman as possible while still remaining more or less on the seat, but Cartman was paying no attention. He was less-than-subtly staring up at the front of the bus, waiting for Wendy with much more anticipation than Stan seemed to be.

Then there was a pink beret and a flash of black hair, a low "hello" from Stan, and the second Wendy smiled back, all the nervousness in Cartman's body evaporated. In typical, stupid-male mode, his spite was back in full force.

"Wendy, baby!" Cartman yelled to the front of the bus. Wendy whipped around and rolled her eyes with a smile when she realized who it was. "You and your girlfriend should come sit with us." Stan glowered, and Cartman retorted with a raspberry and a squeeze for his impromptu girlfriend. Kyle, however, didn't seem to appreciate the affection, and pushed him off violently.

"Dammit, Cartman – get off me!" He smacked him once again just for good measure, and Cartman chuckled devilishly.

"Oh, so it's only alright when _Stan_ does it?"

Kyle coughed indignantly. "Get real, fatass." But then his eyes glittered and Cartman caught it. "I much prefer Kenny." And though Kyle's fake pout and crossed arms had Wendy and Cartman both laughing through their noses, Stan blushed deeply. He knew this sort of thing would happen...

"C'mon, Stan, let's go sit down," Wendy offered with a pretty smile. Stan sighed and followed her resignedly, distinctly hearing Cartman whispering something about "wearing the pants" as he passed. He shut his eyes and tried to ignore it.

"Sometimes I think you like them better than I do," Stan muttered to Wendy with a sheepish grin.

She giggled and quoted sagely, "Boys will be boys." She scooted into the window seat across from Cartman and Kyle. "I've learned to accept it. Otherwise..." She flicked Stan's nose as he sat down next to her. "How would I put up with you?"

Stan rolled his eyes and grabbed her offending hand, trying to seem affectionate but squeezing a little too tight. "I never hear a 'boys will be boys' when Cartman makes fun of _you_." Wendy went a little pink at the comment – and couldn't seem to think of a response.

But Cartman was already on it. He was offended (it had been a _week_ since he'd made fun of her) and hungry (he'd thrown away most of his lunch) and wasn't in the mood.

"Oh, sure, take it all out on me," he complained. "Listen, if that hug thing offended you, you don't have to get all pissy on me. I was only joking. I don't date Jews; you can have him." And, taking Kyle completely by surprise, Cartman turned sideways so he could kick him off the seat.

It was horrific. (Or glorious, if you wanted to look at it from Cartman's point of view.) Cartman's foot met Kyle's side, and in an instant, Kyle and his enormous backpack were thrown into the aisle. Kyle grasped frantically for the nearest thing, and the nearest thing was Stan.

It was his coat collar in Kyle's right hand, and his shirt in Kyle's left. "Ah!" Then they both fell with a loud THUMP to the floor, Kyle crumpled awkwardly on the floor, nose slammed up against what was now solely Wendy's bus seat, and Stan sprawled awkwardly on top, heart beating rapidly. He desperately wished his legs weren't straddled over Kyle's head. His internal temperature went up about ten degrees.

"I... uh..."

"Oh – oh! Are you okay?" came Wendy's voice from above them, her face worried. (Not that either of the boys could see this. She was quite literally directing her comment at Stan's ass.) Cartman's face, on the other hand, was nothing short of giddy. At the moment, he wasn't even _thinking_ about Wendy – at least not as anything other than an audience for the spectacle before them.

"Jesus _fuck_, Cartman," Kyle moaned, able to move only enough to peel his face off the seat leg. Stan gave an uncomfortable squirm above him, and Kyle let out an apologetic laugh. "Uh, sorry, Stan... wasn't, you know, expecting that. But uh... d'you think you could get your ass out of my face? It doesn't _exactly_ smell like a field of roses down here."

Stan felt his stomach convulse and slid off Kyle as quickly as physically possible, trying to keep the blood in his face from draining elsewhere. Why, why, _why_ did Cartman have to have such a gift for hitting him where it hurt the most? Why did humiliation come so naturally to that child? He scrambled up and jumped back into his seat next to Wendy, readjusting his shirt and jacket and turning his gaze to the floor. "Cartman..." he muttered, but didn't add anything else because he was too concentrated on not looking at Kyle to think.

"You really are an ass," Wendy scolded, grabbing her boyfriend's hand protectively. "And if I didn't know better, I'd say _you_ liked Kyle."

Cartman's smile slid off his face almost immediately. Stan felt a surge of gratitude towards the girl he suddenly wanted to buy a diamond watch for.

"God dammit Wendy, you are such a little ho some–"

"Cartman!" Stan snapped, clutching the hand that Wendy had offered to him. "Leave her the fuck alone!" He threw an arm around his girlfriend and gave her a quick kiss on the forehead. Wendy beamed up at him and Cartman pulled a face of disgust, turning to the window and brooding.

Fuck Wendy. He didn't need her assistance to win this bet anyway. Stan was pathetic enough to lose Kyle's fifty bucks with or without Cartman's interference. He felt his stomach rumble with hunger and wrapped his arms around his abdomen as if to stifle the noise. Fuck Wendy. Fuck her. He noticed suddenly – and surprised himself by the observation – that Kyle had left for another seat farther up on the bus. Cartman let his weight drop towards the window and felt his forehead hit the glass with a muffled smack. Eh, fuck him, too.

Stan, on the other hand, was in complete heaven. As much as Kyle had invaded his thoughts as of late, he found himself genuinely enjoying Wendy's weight against his side and her head on his shoulder. Maybe... maybe the whole Kyle situation was just a fluctuation of hormones after all. Because he liked – no, he _loved_ – Wendy. He could stay like this forever, Wendy's fingers between his and her breath on the exposed skin of his neck. His stomach was tight, but he didn't feel entirely nauseous. Maybe... this would work itself out.

* * *

There were sandwiches on the table and, Pip knew by now, some sort of dinner in the refrigerator. He pulled back the cellophane over his turkey on rye and threw his backpack over the table. He was going to do it this time... he was going to do it.

He unzipped his bag and pulled out his battered copy of '_Of Mice and Men_' and flipped to the fourth chapter, taking a bite of turkey as he did. It wasn't such a bad book, really... it wasn't... Actually... he could envision himself enjoying it...

Pip tucked his hair behind his ears and put down his hardly-touched sandwich, burying himself in the thin, discolored book. He wondered if Slim made a reappearance in the chapter... he was fond of him. The tall, dark and handsome type... Pip could see why he was admired among all the ranchers. His control... power... and the smoothness of his speech and actions. A glass grip that could shatter steel. Pip gave a little shudder and bent closer to the book... but he wasn't reading. He was just inhaling that certain smell used books carry about them... imagining someone in place of Slim...

He dropped the book and rushed upstairs, grabbing his notebook and locking his bedroom door behind him.

Fifteen minutes later, he was lying face up on his bed, breathing heavily, his notebook crumpled on the floor by his bedside. As he inhaled with his eyes closed, he made a note of how grateful he was of the fact that his parents were out of the house so often...

* * *

Wendy let out a little cry of pleasure as Stan pushed her into the basement couch, one hand on her shoulder, one hand on her waist, and his mouth on her neck. She started giggling at the feel of his breath on her skin and kicked her legs out involuntarily.

"Shh," Stan whispered, giggling a little himself. "My parents are upstairs." Wendy nodded, smiling.

"Sorry." She cupped his face with her hands and brought his lips down to hers, leaving him a lingering kiss. Then, suddenly, her smile became a full-out grin. "Stan... you're not..."

"I know," Stan replied softly, bringing his body closer to hers. "I'm nervous as hell, believe me, but... I just... I want this..."

God, she was gorgeous... that long black hair and her piercing eyes, and the way she moaned every time his lips touched her skin. She grabbed fistfuls of Stan's hair between her sweaty fingers and muttered into his mouth, "I can't believe a spaz like you has me so completely seduced..."

"_Seduced now?"_

_Stan stared, finding it very hard at the moment to believe that Kyle was a fifteen-year-old straight-A math team student._

"_Incredibly."_

Stan's eyes went wide and it was over again; it was Kyle beneath him, Kyle's body heat mingling with his, Kyle's lips between his.

"Stan," she whispered breathlessly, but it was Kyle speaking, it was all Kyle. He closed his eyes tightly and tried to force his brain to remember that it was Wendy on his couch, that it was _Wendy_ he loved.

But it was Kyle he continued to kiss hungrily in his dark basement.


	16. Chapter 16

**To the Count of Twenty**

Wow... it's been awhile, hasn't it? I'm back from Graydon Manor, guys... I'M HOME+does a dance+

Now that I have regular access to my computer I can go back to updating on a regular schedule, though I must confess, I am getting a little tired of this story... don't get me wrong, I intend to finish it (unlike sooo many people here that break my heart) but as it gets deeper into the story and will inevitably become more angsty... I find myself filling up with dread. I am -- it must be said -- really, really sick of SP angst right now. And I _knooow_; I've written SP angst, so I shouldn't be complaining about it. But it's just... everywhere now. I feel like the humor has been drained from this section. C'mon, guys... it's South Park! With that in mind, I tried to make this chapter a little lighter, even during some of the more serious scenes that I really just had to get out of the way in this chapter. (Like Cartman being an idiot over Wendy.)

I also wish I could've put more Stan/Kyle in this chapter, because you guys have had to wait so long for it... (I bet most people assume I just gave up on TtCoT, lol.) Oh well. Kenny fans will have fun.

* * *

**  
chapter sixteen**

It was eight o'clock when Wendy got home, and she had homework to do, but for once in her life she didn't care. She rushed up to her room with enthusiasm that caused her father to yell something about a walrus on the stairs. Well, screw him. She couldn't care less.

She yanked her powder-pink phone off its cradle and punched in Bebe's number, her grin so wide that her cheeks actually hurt. _Brring_. _Brring_. _Brr–_

"Hello?"

"Bebe," Wendy squeaked; she could hear Bebe let out a sigh from her end.

"Let me guess," Bebe started, the sarcasm already evident in her voice. "You started making out, he puked all over you, but it was worth it because he's _sooooo_ cute when he's nervous." Wendy grinned, because Bebe knew her so completely.

"On any other day, yes," Wendy confessed, her voice a few notes too high. "But not tonight. He didn't... Bebe... oh _god_ it was hot, Stan is the fucking _quintessence_ of gorgeous." Bebe took a moment to marvel at the fact that Wendy somehow managed to be a complete nerd even when she was discussing a boy's sex appeal. "And he didn't throw up – I mean, not at _all_. No retching, no _nothing_. Just – ohh, _damn_, Bebe, I –"

"Wendy," Bebe cut in, her voice raised slightly. "I don't mean to interrupt, but if you have an orgasm on me right now, I _will_ be scarred for life, and I _will_ have to fatally maim you." Wendy shut up. For about a second.

"It was incredible, Bebe," she breathed, calmer, at least. "I mean, even before we got to his house. When we were on the bus, Cartman –"

"_Cartman?_" Bebe coughed, and Wendy fell silent. "What _is_ it with you and Cartman recently? Have you guys formed, like, a threesome now?"

"No, Bebe –" Wendy started to explain, but Bebe cut her off again.

"Not that I don't _adore_ the constant racial slurs and profanities, but I am sick to death of hearing about him. I don't know what's gotten into you; a month ago you wouldn't even make eye contact with him unless it was to glare at him."

"Bebe," Wendy protested weakly.

"It's weird."

It was an awkward silence that followed. Wendy wanted to explain that she'd only been about to say how Stan had stood up to Cartman for her on the bus, but she was too taken aback by Bebe's overreaction to form the words on her tongue. She waited for Bebe to make the next move.

"It's just that..." Bebe took a deep breath, apparently realizing that she was taking the wrong approach with Wendy as she was now dead silent. "You have _no_ idea how hard it is to be your friend." Wendy gave a timid laugh. "You're so goddamn complicated. Just when I think I've figured you out, you go and... start falling for Cartman."

Wendy's words finally came to her. "Bebe, I'm _not_ falling for Cartman."

Bebe laughed softly. "Damn, Wendy... you're one bad fuckin' liar."

"I'm not!" Wendy insisted, annoyed, but more embarrassed than anything else. "I'm not going to try and deny that I'm fickle, or that I'm quick-tempered, or that I send more mixed signals than a broken stoplight, but –" Bebe started to giggle shrilly.

"You're _so-o la-ame!_" she choked out.

"– _I love Stan Marsh_."

Bebe tilted her head, nestling her phone between her cheek and shoulder, clucking her tongue. "I didn't say you _loved_ Cartman, Wendy. And I never said you _didn't_ love Stan. But you..." She bit at a hangnail on her left hand anxiously. "I mean... you've been my best friend since we could walk and talk. I do know _some_ things about the way you think and behave."

Wendy paused thoughtfully. "Then explain it to me."

* * *

His stomach felt like it was about to bleed it was so tight. He couldn't even remember what he'd eaten, only that it was everything his mother had cooked that night. Fuck, he was sick... but it had felt so right at the time. So natural. 

"Mom," he moaned, holding his stomach as he turned sideways on his bed.

"Yes, poopsie?" she called up from the kitchen. He was so used to the pet name that he didn't even protest.

"Could you get me some Pepto Bismol?" But he knew full well that a spoonful of that nasty pink shit wasn't going to solve anything. He wasn't sure much could.

"Coming, baby."

Cartman turned restlessly to his other side, trying to no avail to make himself comfortable. He thought he might puke, and the food was only half the reason. The rest of it was Wendy... god dammit... it was always Wendy.

Stan was such a butt fucking little pussy, and Cartman wanted him dead... well, maybe just comatose. He and Wendy were _finally_ starting to get along, and Stan had to fuck it all up for him. Him and that fucking Jew... and god, it was so obvious that Stan wanted _him_. _Not_ Wendy. _Leave her for someone who actually _wants_ her you mother fucker_... The mere confession in his head made his stomach convulse, and he involuntarily shuddered.

"Sweetie," Mrs. Cartman called up; Cartman turned. "It isn't in the cupboard down here... could you check the medicine cabinet in the bathroom?" Normally, he would have refused in order to lay on his bed for those precious five minutes, but he was too tired with everything else to bother with the effort of arguing.

"Sure..." He heaved himself off the bed and waddled to the bathroom, clutching his stomach as though it would explode otherwise. Every footstep sounded to him like an atom bomb going off, or one of those massive farts he'd done on Kyle's face in the locker room in seventh grade: loud enough to physically hurt. All those lunches he had thrown away... all that self control... gone to waste. The pain was just... too much...

He opened the medicine cabinet in the bathroom with a little _click_, surprised at himself for actually making the trip for the Pepto Bismol when he knew perfectly well it wasn't going to help. Somatic illnesses make pharmaceutical companies rich... But then he noticed a little brown bottle nestled behind the plastic pink one, looking distinctly foreboding in its thick veil of dust. Curious, he plucked it up and wiped clean the label. _Ipecac Syrup_...

His stomach gave another turn. He recognized that name... he'd had it drilled into his head during health class; you were supposed to swallow it after ingesting poison... it made you vomit up everything in your stomach. Everything...

_No_, he urged himself, hands shaking. _Kenny didn't_... _Kenny wouldn't_...

_Kenny doesn't have to know_.

He shook guiltily, unscrewing the cap quickly before he changed his mind. Kenny was wading around somewhere in limbo right now anyway... and it's not like... he didn't understand, anyway. Maybe he _was_ his... you know, best friend... but he didn't understand girls at all. He'd never felt like this before. Surely none of his porno mags could evoke feelings like this... sick, painful feelings like this... Cartman downed the bottle of bitter liquid in one swallow, grimacing. He'd never had to endure the teasing or tormenting like Cartman had... well, okay, maybe he'd taken a little shit for his monetary situation... maybe a lot of shit... and maybe Cartman _happened_ to be in on it a lot... well, all the time, really... and uh... you know, it _was_ Cartman who'd been responsible for his last few (and _completely_ accidental) deaths, but...

"Shut up shut up shut up!" Cartman roared to himself, trying to bite back any sort of guilt he might be feeling over the predicament. Guilt wasn't in character for him, and he didn't like it. Feeling remorse over Kenny was an action way too girly for him to tolerate.

He shuffled miserably back into his room, wondering how long it would take for him to react to the syrup of ipecac. It was pathetic, really, the way he was acting... he was practically Stan. For some hippie chick like Wendy to have this effect on him his sanity had to be seriously waning. He decided lazily to blame it on adolescence and flopped onto his bed, wishing more than anything that the pain in his stomach would go away – it really wasn't helping the situation any.

Then he felt it: a warm watering in his mouth and a lightheadedness that meant vomit. He made a run for the bathroom and practically fell to floor in eagerness to get to the toilet. It was amazing how fast it all happened, and how violent it all was. He barely had time to crane his neck over the bowl before it all came spilling out, as though his stomach were literally being squeezed out into the water beneath him. The dull splashing filled the tiny room and Cartman's ears. So much... there was so much... he could make out bits of his undigested dinner in the bowl, hitting the water so fast that some of it splashed back in his face. How long could this keep going? But there was more, more, more... he couldn't have possibly eaten this much in the past _week_, much less the past day... but the bowl was filling fast and Cartman's churning stomach made no sign of stopping anytime soon.

_Fuck_... _it hurts_... He could feel tears beginning to roll down his cheeks. He'd never been so sick in his life. What was _in_ this shit! _It hurts_... _so much_... Why was he doing this! Oh, Kenny was right... this was stupid... this was stupid, stupid, stupid... _Wendy isn't worth this_... _Wendy isn't worth this_... _It hurts_... _it hurts so fucking much_...

_But she's worth it_... _she's worth it all_...

He didn't leave the bathroom all night.

* * *

Kenny was at the bus stop Tuesday morning and gave Cartman a bright (if slightly clipped due to the natural impulse to keep his arms at his chest for warmth) wave as he approached the corner. Cartman gave him a small smile in return, too weak to do much else, and too guilty to bother looking genuinely happy to see him. Kenny didn't seem to notice, though, and seemed perfectly content to continue rubbing his arms and shivering in peace. 

Stan and Kyle were the last to arrive, making small talk as they walked together to keep the bitter cold off their mind. Stan felt about as sick as Cartman, chatting casually with a guy who had no idea he'd made out with him subconsciously for hours last night. But what else was he supposed to do when the one person who could make him feel better about this sort of thing was the one triggering it as well? As they rounded the corner and walked up to the other two boys they made small waves like Kenny, enough to signify their presence but not much more. Stan was content just to say a quick "Hey," but Kyle decided it would be prudent to add, "Wow, you look like shit, Cartman."

Cartman narrowed his eyes and clenched his fists in his pockets. "Thanks for the news bulletin, Jew."

"Welcome."

Kenny finally stopped trying to keep himself from freezing to death (not like it'd be a big deal) to look over at Cartman, then bit his lip beneath his hood. "Yeah, Cartman," he mumbled. "You look even worse than usual." Cartman glared.

"You know I'm not above strangling you, Kenny."

So he shut up and waited for the bus in silence.

* * *

By the time Kenny arrived at home that afternoon he was genuinely worried about Cartman. He hadn't said a word on the bus to or from school, nor at lunch, not even when Kyle started whining about his mom – definitely loud enough for Cartman to hear. Kenny had been expecting a rousing chorus of "_Kyle's Mom's a Bitch_," or – at the very least – a snide remark about Jewish women, but he'd been left disappointed. Something was up with Cartman, and as he'd been practically ecstatic yesterday, even in that... (Kenny shuddered visibly)... bathroom stall... it had to be serious. Or else it was about Kyle. Which was probably the case. 

He walked into the kitchen long enough to see his father mixing some cocoa and vodka for his wife (who had apparently stormed out of the house a few minutes before Kenny arrived) and to grab a phonebook, which he took promptly to his room along with the telephone handset.

_Connelly_... _Connelly_... Connelly! He punched in the number and waited for someone to pick up.

_Brring_... _brri— _"Hello?"

"Hey," Kenny answered, pulling off his hood. "Is Lexus there?"

"Speaking," replied the voice from the other end of the line with a giggle. Kenny breathed out in relief.

"Hey, Lexi... listen, I don't know you all that well, but I'm really worried about Cartman and I figured you might –"

"Er... who is this?" Lexi interrupted, confused by the unfamiliar male voice. (Not uncommon for her, but hey.)

"Oh... oh, sorry," Kenny apologized, embarrassed. "This is Kenny McCormick, Cartman's friend."

"Orange parka?"

"Yeah..."

"Yeah, I remember you," Lexi purred with an invisible grin. "Cute face."

Kenny hesitated, put off by this girl. "Er... thanks, I guess... But I was calling about Cartman. He's been kinda messed up today, but you were all he could talk about yesterday, and I thought that maybe you had some idea what was up... I mean, he's always a _little_ fucked up, but not like –"

"You wanna drop by?"

Kenny blinked. "What?"

"Yeah, I can come pick you up. What did you say your last name was? McCormick? You in the school directory?"

"No, no, I just wanted to know if –"

"Great! I'll be by your house in a few. Keep an eye out for me!"

_Click_.

Minutes after Lexi had hung up the phone Kenny was still standing there with the receiver to his ear, nonplused and utterly unaware of what he had just done. Who on earth had Cartman gotten himself involved with!

* * *

When Kyle walked into his home, Ike was already there. _Damn "gifted" center_..._ I could've been there, too_. "Hey Ike," he called into the living room in a mockingly cheerful voice. 

"Welcome home, dear brother." Idiot. Kyle started up the stairs, wholly intending to ignore Ike like he always did, but then Ike added, "Oh, and Stan called."

What? Kyle stopped dead on the stairs and walked back down to stare at Ike who had clearly lost his mind. Why on earth would Stan have called at a time like this? The walk to his house from the bus stop was only a few minutes shorter than Kyle's... did he have something so urgent that it couldn't wait any longer than the two minutes it would've taken Kyle to get home? "That doesn't make any sense, Ike."

"Hey," Ike responded carelessly, and didn't even dignify his older brother with a glance. "It's not like I _asked_ the guy to call. He has seemed a little weird the last few times he's been around here, though." He finally turned around on the couch to look at Kyle. "Are you two screwing around behind my back or something?"

That ripped a hard laugh from Kyle that caused his backpack to slide to the floor as his shoulders shook. "W–what?" he choked out in between laughs, looking incredibly amused. "Yeah, Ike, haven't you noticed that all we do when he sleeps over is fuck? We're so loud the floor shakes; I just assumed you'd figured it out." Ike rolled his eyes.

"You're a freak."

"Yeah," Kyle replied. "Yeah. _I'm_ the freak." He picked his backpack up off the floor and started up for his room again, still laughing. Were the two of them... he suppressed a snort.

He did return Stan's call, though. It was Stan who answered.

"Hello?"

"Hey, lover," Kyle purred, grinning. Apparently Stan had been chewing on something, because he promptly started choking.

He managed a breathless, "_What?_" after hacking out whatever had lodged itself in his throat.

Kyle didn't seem to mind the brief interruption, however. He was still highly entertained by the whole thing. "I think you fucked a little with my brother's head by calling so early; he seems to be under the impression that we're having wild anal sex with each other."

Stan was, apparently, still breathless, because all he seemed to be able to manage was, "O-oh."

"Yeah... I love the kid. So why _did_ you call, anyway? You still going through that gender confusion thing?" Stan glared from his end.

"I just had a uh... question about homework, yeah, but uh... I figured it out so... bye, I guess." Then he slammed down the phone, but with a little too much gusto, as he sent the whole thing tumbling to the floor. He didn't bother to pick it up; his hands were probably too sweaty to hold anything anyway.

What the _fuck_ was wrong with Kyle and his brother! Did they think the idea was _funny_! That it was just some huge joke? And why the hell were they talking about it anyway? He collapsed onto his bed because he didn't think he had the strength to stand anymore. Jesus Christ... Ike... that little son of a bitch...

But Kyle thought it was funny. Kyle thought the idea was ludicrous. That was something, wasn't it? That he didn't suspect him in the least? The kid was a little dense, though... Stan had been breaking things on a regular basis around Kyle for the past week or so and he didn't even notice. Maybe his terrible intuition was good for something.

The black-haired boy rolled over onto his stomach and let out a long exhale.

_I fucking hate life_.

* * *

Kenny couldn't believe it. She was here. She was _actually here_, honking the horn of the same car that had run him over just last week. What the hell was wrong with this chick? 

"HEY!" she called from the car, not bothering to step out and probably getting a riot out of his neighbors. Kenny hoped they realized that he didn't have enough money to afford a hooker, which is exactly what she looked like. "MCCORMICK! C'MON! YOU WANTED ME TO PICK YOU UP!" Kenny frowned. What universe was she _living_ in?

But he hauled ass out of the house because it would only be a matter of time before his parents were wondering why an expensive car and an expensive looking chick were parked in their driveway. Besides, she might have food at her house. Or some hot friends. Whatever.

"There you are!" Lexi chirped happily as she saw her cute new playmate walking towards the car. "I was wondering what was taking you so long." Kenny shrugged and got into the passenger's seat, wondering whether or not he was out of his mind for going along with this.

"Contemplating whether or not it was safe to drive off with someone who's quite possibly insane," he responded honestly, to which Lexi pouted but then giggled.

"I was bored."

"Obviously."

"And I have no idea what's wrong with Cartman."

"Of course you don't." The car roared to a start and they were zooming down the road, Kenny actually fastening his seatbelt; if Lexi had learned to drive from her sister, he was glad that he hadn't experienced that car ride last week. He didn't need another car related death, at least not in the same seven days. Oh, fate.

But they did return in one piece to the Connelly household, only two ignored red lights and a hit-and-run later. The guy looked like he'd make it. He didn't really need that left leg. They hopped out of the car and walked into the house, the putrid smell of at least seven different perfumes hitting Kenny for the first time, making him dizzy and nauseous. "Wow," he coughed out, his eyes watering. "You really need to lay off the spray."

Lexi, who looked as though she hadn't noticed the offending smell at all, responded simply, "Yeah, a lot of guys say that their first time. My room's up this way, sweetie."

"So," Kenny started with a twisted grin as the two of them started up the stairway. "How many guys _have_ you had over here?" Lexi did some quick calculation in her head.

"Nineteen... maybe twenty. I've sorta lost count." Kenny snorted.

"And how many have you screwed senseless?"

"All of them," Lexi answered, unabashed. "Except you, Cartman and Butters."

"Ah." They reached the landing, and Kenny followed Lexi to her door. "Well, I can understand Cartman and Butters, anyway."

For some reason, that put an ugly look on Lexi's face, but she wiped it off in another second, grateful that she had her back turned to Kenny. Wendy was wrong about her and Butters, but he was still a sweet guy... Kenny had no business saying something like that. She tried to shake the thought from her head and plastered on a smile as she opened up her door, making a sweeping gesture to invite him in. (Kenny gagged a little on the new wave of body spray.) "So what about you, sweetie? You wanna play?"

Kenny concentrated on breathing through his mouth (though he swore he could taste it that way) and shook his head. "No thanks. I generally stick to my magazines. They don't ruin the moment by talking."

Lexi shot him a wide grin, though he'd expected something more along the line of a slap in the face. "You're too much. You and Cartman both. You should hang around more... my friends would eat you right up."

"Hey," Kenny shrugged, flopping down on Lexi's bed because it looked like the most comfortable seat. "If it's free, it's fine by me." Lexi giggled and crawled onto the bed with him, sitting herself cross-legged at the head. "But answer me this, if you're not going to be any help to me with Cartman: why _did_ you have _Stotch_ over here?"

Then, suddenly, she was blushing, which was something she so rarely did that she didn't know what was happening at first. "We just... he was in a few of my classes... last year. School projects and stuff... well, why should I have to explain myself to you anyway!" She didn't like the heat in her cheeks that she was painfully aware of in the presence of this unfamiliar boy. Kenny raised his eyebrows.

"You don't, but... I don't think you should offer me a free screw when you'd rather get one from your little Butters. You _know_ he'd put –"

And then Lexi was standing up on her bed because height was justly dramatic in a situation like this. "I really do wish people would stop insinuating–" (and she really hoped "insinuating" was the right word because she wasn't entirely sure... she'd heard Wendy use it once) "– that I'm in love with this kid. I'm not, in case you haven't noticed! I can get my fill from anyone I want and I _don't_ need him!"

Kenny decided to stand up, too, because the ensuing argument seemed like a promising source of entertainment. "Maybe you should just admit to yourself that your stuttering little blondie turns your crank!" He was glad his hood was up so Lexi couldn't see his amused grin beneath it.

"Y-_you_!" Lexi sputtered indignantly, her face burning red now. "If I wanted him don't you think I would _have_ him by now? I'm goddamned gorgeous! He'd be tripping over himself to get a piece of this!" Kenny thought he might die this was so good.

"Maybe he doesn't _want_ a piece of that! Maybe he's sick of all you self-absorbed teenage girls! Maybe he wants some big, touch, macho man to pound his—"

WHAM. Lexi shoved him right off her bed. And right into her ceiling fan.

It was actually sort of satisfying to hear that first blade hit his skull and the dull sputtering that the fan made as his hood tangled into the succeeding blades. He only made a few grotesque revolutions before the blades hit an artery and sent blood flying all over Lexi's room, clumps of hair and clothing falling like snowflakes to the floor. Eventually the flesh clogging the fan caused the whole thing to come skidding to a halt, leaving Lexi with a gruesome ceiling ornament consisting mainly of unidentifiable gore in an orange parka.

Lexi pouted and put her hands on her hips. "Well... that's what you get." And jumped down off the bed to get some ice cream.


	17. Chapter 17

**To the Count of Twenty**

Hey, look, Christine! It's that fanfiction you never update! WOOHOO!

So it took me ten years to get you this chapter and it's about five lines long. Whoops. I don't really have a legitimate excuse for delays now that I'm home... oo; but here's the one I'm going to try and use so you don't decide to leave flaming bags of fecal matter on my doorstep: this chapter was very hard for me to write because it's a bit of a compromise chapter. I'd wanted to get in a bit more before hitting this plotpoint, but... well, I just felt bad making you guys wait because this story got unintentionally put on hold for so long. It's been almost a year now since I first started this thing! Wow... GRAYDON RUINED MY LIFE+flames+ So I hope you guys enjoy this. u.u

And now for some shameless whining about my life! Guys, if you want a well-written story, this probably isn't the fic for you... go look at my other pieces. oo; I started this story initially as something to amuse my little sister with, and had no idea anyone else would even like it, heh heh. The writing isn't fabulous, the plot is a bit wonky, and I just am not too thrilled with it. BUT, because I am a bit compulsive freak, I CANNOT just let it fall by the wayside. Your reviews are all too nice:heart: I'll try to get these chapters up faster... no promises, but I do feel bad being so lazy on the people that keep me going.

P.S. There are some really GREAT fanfics popping up in this section! I've been a bit busy and haven't reviewed all of them yet, but I'll get there, I promise! Congratulations to all the new authors here -- you guys are doing fab!

* * *

**chapter seventeen**

Lexi called him to apologize, but Cartman dismissed the whole thing. It was slightly heartening to know that Kenny had cared enough about him to enter the hell hole that was Lexi's abode, but even Kenny wasn't enough to make him feel better. He felt dirty, which was really saying something for him. He felt guilty, and miserable, and pathetic.

He shouldn't; it was nearly fact now that Stan had the hots for Kyle, and Kenny just kept ticking off lives, but the bet had somewhere along the road become irrelevant to Cartman. Fifty dollars... what could he even buy with fifty dollars? It had been more for the sour look on Kyle's face than anything else. And Wendy had completely ruined that for him. _Torturing Kyle_ was no longer fun for him. He was sick, seriously, seriously sick, and he wasn't sure exactly what Wendy had done to him. Fuck him up. That's what. Made his life miserable.

But then... every now and then... she would give him that look that was so much softer than anything Kyle or Stan or even Kenny had ever sent his way, that look that said _I don't really hate you_. No one else in his life had ever held that sentiment. It was only her. She was the only one that had ever been able to look past the asshole front he put up to protect the terrified little boy beneath and care about him. She was the only girl who had ever kissed him. And now that he thought about it, she was the only girl he'd ever wanted a kiss from.

And he realized with unpleasant abruptness that this wasn't a recent development. He'd been stuck on Wendy for years.

He was interrupted from his inner monologue by a hesitant knocking at his door, a knocking that he wasn't expecting with his mother out of the house and no deliveries on the way. _Well, what the hell_. He pushed himself off the sofa and walked over to the door, swinging it open apathetically. The scared looking girl on his front porch smiled weakly at him.

"Hey... Eric..."

No... he backed clumsily away from the door, not thinking how suspicious his reaction must have looked. What the hell was she doing... right at his door? Why the fuck would Wendy want to see his face ever again? "Wh-what the hell are you doing here, ho?" Wendy looked down with a hurt frown and Cartman instantly regretted his ego's need to beat her down.

"I um... look, I'm really sorry for coming over without calling, it's not something I normally do... But I really need – _wanted_ – to talk to you and I didn't think I could do it over the phone..."

Cartman raised an eyebrow, trying to ignore the squirming in his stomach. "I was at lunch today, why couldn't you talk to me then?"

Wendy didn't seem to be able to meet his eyes. "I need to _talk_, talk. Alone." That word made his temperature go up. "I... if you're not doing anything... right now... I was wondering... if you wanted to like, go... go walking with me... I just really need to... Bebe really thought I should..." Cartman looked past her to the raging wind outside.

"Aren't you cold?" he asked as gently as he'd ever spoken to her. She finally looked up at him. "You can come in... if you want. It's... a lot warmer in here. I mean, if that wouldn't make you uncomfortable... my mom's out right now, and..." He ended his sentence like that, and the silence that followed was uncomfortable, but then Wendy smiled and gave him that look, that look that he'd fallen totally head-over-heels for.

"Yes. Thank you."

* * *

Kyle was worried. Really, really worried. Stan had been a complete mess lately and he didn't like it one bit. Stan was the one he counted on to be level-headed, to be mature (well, except the whole vomit spiel), and if nothing else... well, Stan was his best friend. It was unsettling to hear him like this. He worried that he was the cause, worried that him and his stupid bet with Cartman had put way too much pressure on Stan... leave it to Stan to take something like that seriously. Kyle knew that Cartman would never give him fifty dollars anyway. He was afraid that he was responsible for the rift in his best friend's relationship, and terrified that it might affect his own with him. He'd come too close to losing him too many times.

And he wouldn't accept Stan hanging up on him like that. He was going to help fix that hopeless influx of estrogen... whether he liked it or not.

He pulled on his hat and coat and headed out the door.

* * *

Wendy had been suspicious when Cartman microwaved her a cup of Swiss Miss, afraid he might have put some sort of poison in it, but now the warmth flooding her stomach was enough to be grateful for. He sat down across from her at the kitchen table and stared awkwardly at his hands. The hot chocolate also gave her something to do during the silences.

"What did you... um..." Cartman hated to be so nervous, because it ruined the reputation he had worked so hard to build for himself. "What did you come here for?"

Wendy took a long drink before answering, because stalling seemed the easiest thing to do. "I..." Oh damn, why was this so hard? It didn't even necessarily mean anything. It never had before. "It's just that... things have been really weird between us recently. And by 'weird,' I mean we've been astoundingly civil to one another, which is hardly normal... for either of us." Cartman squirmed in his chair, not liking this conversation. "You always make me so angry... you always have... since we were in elementary school. More than anyone else, you always got me so fired up. But..." She smiled, almost fondly, her gaze lowered to the table. "I always tried so hard to impress you. I wanted your approval, even if it was just to prove you wrong. So few people have that effect on me."

"Wendy," Cartman broke in, not seeing where this was going. "I don't–"

"No, let me finish," Wendy said firmly, and Cartman clamped his lips shut. "But lately you've been acting... different, I guess. Nicer to me. And I don't know why, maybe because you've always hated me–" _not true_, Cartman thought "–but it makes me nervous. No, nervous isn't the word... I feel excited around you. I know that seems crazy; who the hell feels _excited_ around Eric Cartman?" She laughed and Cartman went a little pink, wishing she wasn't saying these things he never wanted to hear, much less from her. "Always wondering whether it's just some cruel joke... or that maybe... you actually like me. And it's not unreasonable, really... to be excited that someone like Eric Cartman wants to be around you..." And there she looked up quickly and blushed, quickly adding, "I mean, I don't know if you really do, just—"

"No," Cartman responded. "I do. I don't hate you, Wendy." She smiled at him and he felt himself dying a little on the inside. "It was just annoying to have some hippie chick like you calling all my bluffs." She actually laughed then, and that made it a little better, but then something crossed her face that put an abrupt stop to the laughter and made her reach for her cocoa. Cartman frowned. "What?"

"I didn't come here to tell you that," Wendy muttered into her mug. "So don't make me laugh. That makes it harder."

"Oh... uh... okay." He wished he had something to keep his hands busy with; Wendy was abusing the privilege of having something to drink.

"See... Cartman... when someone teases you as much as you do, when someone makes it their personal mission to make your life hell... they're on your mind a lot, like some sick sort of conscience telling you when you fuck up. But now... even though you've put effort into being nicer to me... even though I can't hate you the way I normally do... I still... I still can't stop thinking about you." Cartman was staring at her, but she couldn't bear to look him in the eye. "The timing is terrible, you know? Stan has become this... perfect guy for me, but... but I still think about you. Friday night, after the football game... Bebe told me that you stood up to him for me... I lit up like a fucking Christmas tree. That sort of thing shouldn't happen, not with you, not with us... I don't know what's the matter with me..." She looked like she might start to cry. "Please don't hate me for this... I didn't even realize it until Bebe talked it over with me... I didn't ever think I would like you again."

Cartman just blinked stupidly. She was... she was really saying it... but she couldn't be... she _couldn't_ be. "Wendy, I don't –"

"I know that you think I'm just some idiot whore or something, but I just wanted to say it, or I would never –"

"No, you don't –"

"And I'm sure you'll get a laugh out of telling Stan and fucking up my life but I don't –"

"_No, Wendy!_"

"So I'll just get –"

And suddenly he was at the other end of the table with her, pushing her up against the wall with a desperate, inexperienced kiss, because that was the only way he could think of to shut her up and make her understand at the same time. He couldn't even enjoy it because he was terrified of what she was thinking, but he couldn't stop, couldn't tear himself away from her, because he knew that when he did it would be all over, that she would laugh at him and sneer at him and hate him again, that none of this would be real.

But not once in the whole five minutes did she pull away to laugh at him.

* * *

Stan felt the bottom drop out of his stomach when his mother called casually up the stairs, "Stan, honey, Kyle's here! Your father and I are going out shopping, so don't burn the house down, okay?" He scrambled off the bed so fast that he fell flat onto the floor, and his mother must have noticed, because she added quickly, "And try not to break anything, either." Stan hoped his parents ran into a tree.

Kyle was already halfway up the stairs when Stan appeared at the top of the stairway, looking surprised and frightened, like a deer caught in headlights. Kyle frowned guiltily. "Hey, Stan... listen, I wanted to drop by and—"

"Wangetsomethingtoeat?" Stan mumbled almost inaudibly, fearing that Kyle would want to talk to him in his bedroom, which was something he didn't think he could handle right now. Kyle raised his eyebrows but shrugged.

"Uh... sure, I guess. I hope you mean from your refrigerator, though, because it's absolute hell outside. I brought about a gallon worth of snow into your house with me." Stan nodded and brushed past him, taking two steps at a time and tripping a little at the bottom of the banister. Kyle rolled his eyes and followed.

"What do you want?" Stan asked as he rummaged through his cupboard for something lethal. "We've got a couple bags of chips and some Cheesy Poofs, only I think they're from a couple months ago... but Cartman eats them all the time and they don't seem to bother him..." Kyle couldn't help but smile at Stan's awkwardness, even if it was slightly annoying. He was like a little kid.

"I'm not really hungry," Kyle replied, bobbing back and forth on the balls of his feet a little impatiently.

"Oh." Stan emerged from the cupboard with about five bags of junk food in his arms. Kyle stared. "Suit yourself." Then he headed for the living room without a second glance at Kyle, who let out an annoyed exhale. Stan was lucky he played football or his nervous eating habits would have him looking like Cartman. He switched on the tv and dove into one of the bags: the expired Cheesy Poofs, it looked like. Kyle strode over and hovered over the couch he was sitting on, trying unsuccessfully to make eye contact with his friend. He knew he wasn't really watching the television; the current station was airing a Spanish news broadcast.

"Look, Stan," Kyle started awkwardly, continuing to seek out Stan's eyes. "This is what I wanted to talk to you about... you've been _really_ weird lately, like, scary weird, and it's freaking me out. And if it's about my bet with Cartman, I wanted to—"

"Uh huh," Stan replied blankly, staring sightlessly at the television and popping a Cheesy Poof into his mouth. Kyle glared and grabbed the remote away from the black-haired boy, flipping off the tv and throwing the remote across the room to Stan's sudden protests. Now he had his eye contact. "What's the _matter_ with you?" Stan groaned.

Kyle's hands flew to his hips furiously. "What's the matter with _me!_ Stan, you're sitting here trying to avoid me with the Spanish channel! You're scaring the hell out of everyone at school, and you're scaring the hell out of me! What is _wrong?_ If it's me and Cartman, I can try to fix it; if it's Wendy, I – well, I can try to help, and—"

"No, Kyle, stop," Stan interrupted, breaking eye contact to look at the floor. "Look, it's nothing, don't worry about it..."

"Don't worry about it?" Kyle cried, dropping to his knees on the floor to put Stan at eye-level. Stan vision involuntarily flickered up to him. "How can I not worry about it? My best friend has gone completely postal on me." Stan bit his lip.

"I didn't even know you'd noticed," he muttered honestly. Kyle made a small noise in his throat.

"I... of course I did. But you get like that from time to time. I figured it would blow over... but it's been weeks, Stan." Stan started a little. He hadn't realized it had been going on for that long. "I'm really... scared for you."

Stan's cheeks went flaming red and he wished he could do something about it. "I... don't..."

"_Please_... if it's... if it's me... I want to do something. I know I've been an asshole recently... well, okay, I'm always an asshole, but more so than usual. You blew up at me over the Bebe thing a couple weeks ago... is it that? I hate feeling like you're constantly mad at me." Stan let out a long breath and clenched his hands nervously.

"I'm not... I'm not mad at you. It's not you at all... I mean, nothing that –"

Kyle stopped him short with a wild hand gesture. "So it _is_ me?"

"_No_, no, Kyle, I just –"

"Tell me!"

The silence that followed wasn't so much awkward as it was painful. Kyle bit at his lip, aching with guilt at being the one responsible for Stan's apparent misery. Stan, on the other hand, thought Kyle had it lucky not knowing what was really going on with him, and wished he just could accept that and move on. He knew, though, that Kyle wouldn't leave until he'd given him _some_ sort of answer... but the _truth_...? The truth would ruin everything. The fact that Kyle thought this could be some result of his bet with Cartman would have been laughable if Stan hadn't felt so much like vomiting. He really wished he hadn't decided to remedy his discomfort with expired cheese by-products.

Stan slowly stood up and made a futile gesture for Kyle to follow suit. "Come on."

Kyle let Stan lead him through the living room, up the stairs, down the hall and into his bedroom, where he promptly shut the door behind him. The silence was even worse in here without the hum of the kitchen appliances in the background. Kyle made to sit down on Stan's bed, but his friend's somber expression made him stop short. Instead, he closed in the distance between the two of them and grabbed his friend's hands, something he – as a self-respecting boy – hadn't done any more than twice in the past year. He could feel Stan shudder at the touch but didn't pull away. "I want to help," he offered lamely, but backed the words with sincerity. Stan looked up into his face with an almost painful amount of desperation.

"I know," he breathed, his palms sweaty in Kyle's. He wished they were outside... he was burning up. "I just don't want to..." His voice seemed stuck in his throat. "You... I can tell you anything, right?"

Kyle nodded. "Of course, dude..."

"And..." Stan swallowed, but that hardly made it better. "And you won't hate me?" Kyle laughed a little.

"As if I could, you retard."

"...alright."

Kyle smiled. "So you can –"

But he couldn't finish the sentence. Because Stan had grabbed his collar and ripped the words right out of him. And now he was kissing him.

Hard.

Kyle's head spun.


	18. Chapter 18

**To the Count of Twenty**

:feels sick: So... uh... here's a chapter of TtCoT. O.o For the first time in... almost a year... :barfs everywhere:

This is incredibly short and incredibly dumb, and guys, I HATE this story, but people keep sending me reviews going "OMG UPDATE PLZ!" and I feel like a horrible person for just leaving the story like I did... who leaves for a year on a cliffhanger? Really.

So... um... I hope you are moderately appeased. But please don't judge my writing skills on this story. It's like, two years old, and I wasn't thrilled with it then. n.n;; I plan to finish it because people want me to... but it kills me a little inside every time I update. XD

* * *

**chapter eighteen**

Stan registered vaguely as he kissed Kyle with his eyes clamped shut in fear that his hold on Kyle's collar was probably choking him... but he couldn't let go. His entire body felt weak but he couldn't release that grip because it was all he had in the world... he'd thrown everything he had into this moment and couldn't let go of it now, not now that he'd finally made this jump.

And... he was glad. Because now that he was here it didn't seem so scary... the muscles in his face relaxed. It wasn't bad... at all. He'd wondered what it would be like, kissing his best friend, agonized over the thought that it could be anything less than perfect, but fuck, it felt perfect right now... Stan thought he might cry it was so perfect...

But then... then Kyle was pulling away, and it was all wrong because he wasn't supposed to. He couldn't just pull away from a kiss like that... he was supposed to kiss back, supposed to love back, supposed to reward his friend's bravery with a dime book affair, but he was wiping the kiss off on his sleeve and looking terrified. Stan's face went chalk white. "Wh... what are you doing?" he whispered, choking on air and his own suffocating fear because this thing that wasn't supposed to be happening was what he'd been afraid of all along.

Kyle looked as though he ought to be the one asking this question. "Wh... is this what you wanted to tell me?" His eyes shot around the room like a caged animal, making sure there was an escape in case this all went horribly wrong. Worse than it as now, anyway. "I... I like girls, Stan!" he pleaded in a shaky voice.

"Y-yeah, I —"

"I thought you did too! I thought you liked Wendy! I thought – of all of us – you – do you really _feel_ this was about...? I thought you liked _Wendy!_"

Stan wasn't sure when this became an interrogation, and he wasn't sure how to respond. "Well, I... I _do_, but..."

"Then what the fuck are you kissing _me_ for!" No, no, no, it was all _wrong!_ Stan's nose started stinging, and the fact that he was about to cry in front of the boy he hoped was still his best friend only made him feel worse. "You've been Wendy's lapdog since I can remember... you were fucking in love with her... Jesus Christ, Stan, you were practically _suicidal_ during the breaks in your relationship..."

"I... I know, but..."

"But what?" Why was Kyle looking at Stan like _he_ owed _him_ an explanation? _He_ was the one who was messing this up!

"But we've been spending all this time together... alone... working through all this... this stuff, y'know... because of you I've been able to conquer so much... a-and when you said... s-said that..." He started to stutter as he fought harder against tears. "When you m-mentioned... caring a-about m-me... m-more that... _m-more_ than girls..."

"In a platonic way! I don't – I don't like guys, Stan!" Kyle cried, exasperated, feeling guilty for shouting when he was clearly breaking his best friend's heart, but feeling all the while that his personal boundaries had been crossed and that he had every reason to be confused and repulsed.

"Well how the fuck should I know!" Stan hissed. "You're don't date, and you talk about girls like they're _objects_. You're horrible with girls! In fact, you're horrible with everyone! You may be calm and rational more than the rest of us, but the truth is that you really don't give a shit about anyone! The only person you ever seemed to care about at _all_ was _me!_ You're supposed to like _me!_"

Kyle opened his mouth wordlessly, Stan's accusations scorching his ego like fire. His expression was indiscernible as he said quietly, "Look... if I told you I did... wouldn't that be just as bad? Wouldn't I just be leading you on? Stan, I don't date because I _don't_ care enough about girls to treat them the way they expected to be treated. _You're_ the one who called me on that. I..." He swallowed what looked like a wave of nausea and continued in a quieter voice, "If we... if I... _went out_ with you... it would be... just the same." He swallowed again. "Aren't you the one who got all bent out of shape over that?" Stan chanced a look up at Kyle and felt something hot trickle down his cheek; he didn't realize until a few seconds later that he was crying.

"I was just... it w-was all... bull sh-shit... I-I didn't know how I felt about you and I-I... I d-didn't want to admit that I was j-jealous of Bebe..."

Kyle looked like he might be sick, but he mustered up all his maturity to continue the conversation that was going downhill rapidly. "But... you were _right_, Stan. You... look, you're... you're my best friend, and I don't want to hurt—"

"I don't care!" Stan sobbed, his knees giving way as he fell hard to the ground. Oh god, he was pathetic... no wonder Kyle didn't want to be with him. "I don't _c-care_ if you hurt me... I don't c_-care_ if you l-lead me on... r-really! I don't!"

"_I care!_"

"Please!" Stan begged, and the sight of his best friend crumpled up on the ground in complete anguish made Kyle want to break down, too. "P-please, just... j-just b-be with me... l-lie to me if you h-have to... M-more than W-Wendy... m-more than _a-anything_... I've n-never wanted something s-so b-bad in m-my l-life..."

Kyle bit his lip, fighting the impulse to squat down and comfort his friend, because he knew that would give him the wrong idea. "I... I'm really sorry, Stan... I like you as a friend... and... nothing else. I'm sorry," he said again. "I... I think I'm gonna go now..."

Kyle turned and left the room quietly. When Stan heard the door close behind him he fell forward onto the floor and let out a low howl, clutching the carpeting between his fingers and wanting very much to melt into it. He heard the jingle of the front door open and shut and his sobs intensified. _Oh god... why the fuck was he so _stupid

"Y-you... s-said you... w-wouldn't h-hate me..."

---

Kenny's parents didn't seem to mind. Kyle guessed that when you lived a life like theirs it took more than a sobbing fifteen-year-old boy asking to see their dead son to faze them. _Eric Cartman called about an hour ago, _they'd said. _He usually turns up around midnight. You'll have to wait awhile._

And he did. Kevin offered him a drink but there was just no way he could hold it down. He went straight to Kenny's room and fell asleep on the reeking bed almost immediately. Normally the itchy sheets and protruding springs wouldn't have allowed for such a thing, but after so much crying his body could have fallen asleep on a pile of bayonets. When he finally woke up the entire left side of his face was crusty with dried tears and the sun had set completely below the horizon. The only light in the room came from the open door. Kenny grinned when Kyle glanced wearily up at him.

"Mind telling me what the fuck you're doing in my bed on a school night?"

Kyle was on him so quickly that Kenny didn't even see it coming. By the time he realized that Kyle had gotten up he was already being crushed in a suffocating embrace. "Oh god, _Kenny_..." Kenny smirked awkwardly.

"Jesus, Kyle, if you're this horny why didn't you just go to Stan? He's more likely than I am to —"

Well, _that_ got Kyle started. Kenny didn't know what he'd said, but suddenly the redhead latching on to him had burst into noisy tears and was clutching him so tightly he really _was_ in danger of being strangled. He sounded like he was trying to say something, but any attempts of explanation were lost in the breast of Kenny's jacket.

"Er... Kyle?"

Kyle at last pulled away and looked up at Kenny with shiny eyes that were leaking tears all down his bloated cheeks. He looked terrible. Something bad must have happened. "Kenny..."

"Kyle..." Kenny put one arm around Kyle and stroked his hat (didn't he _ever_ take the damn thing off?) with his free hand. "What happened?"

Kyle swallowed hard, his fingernails digging into the skin of Kenny's neck. "Stan... oh _god_, Kenny... Stan _kissed_ me." Kenny's hand came to an abrupt stop as his eyes went wide as saucers. Kyle's face flooded with horror. "Oh, oh no, Kenny! Oh please don't tell anyone! Please, I couldn't stand it!" Kenny grinned weakly and put a shaking hand on Kyle's shoulder.

"No... no, I won't tell anyone... Christ." He shook his head as if he were shaking off water. "I think we both need to sit down for this one."


End file.
